
Class _ 

Book 

CopyriehtU? . 7d6~ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



J 



Ir-T 



EDDIES 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



HUMOROUS 

SENTIMENTAL AND 

PATRIOTIC 

BY 

CLARENCE EDWIN SPRAGUE 




M D C C C C V 



.11) 



Two Goi)iC3 rteCttveg 

JUN 14 • 

& AAc. (Hw 

'* (>737 

COPY B. / 



T6 3" 3 ? 

5' 



Entered according to Act of Congress, 

in the year 1905, 

By Clarence Edwin Sprague, 

in the office of the Librarian, 

Washington, D. C. 



• ••*•••••« ••(,•« r 



51 
t 



THIS BOOK 



BeMcateb 

to 
MY MOTHER 



PREFACE. 

The universal sympathy of the best literary society 
seems to be with those writers whose abilities enable 
them to embellish the fictitious and beautify the com- 
mon things of life in the most touching" sentimental 
naturalness. 

Naturalness is freedom, and freedom is only ob- 
tained by the most delicate application, which is re- 
vealed only by a life spent in close proximity and inter- 
course with the beautiful elements of nature. 

Robert Burns, the great lyric poet of Scotland, 
learned from the freedom of the fields and woods the 
blessed sacredness of home and brotherly fraternity. 

The peaceful farm lands form for the heart of 
James Whitcomb Riley subjects that at the touch of his 
pen seem to fairly glow and exhale the sweet rusticity 
of nature. 

The preparation of this work for publication has 
not been suggested by any personal aspiration of the 
author. It is but a hasty issue in response to the con- 
stant request of friends and a pastime for the pleasure 
it has given him. 

It is with modest reluctance that he submits it to 
the opinion of the public, notwithstanding a knowledge 

(5) 



of the fact that, although it may accomplish little or no 
good, it can accomplish little or no harm. Yet it will 
be a great satisfaction to him can he know that in this 
humble manner he has been the means of cheering 
some discouraged heart that is buffeting against the 
waves of misfortune and disappointment. 

May it represent an humble tribute to the memory 
of his dear mother, whose sweet life will ever be a 
star of Bethlehem, leading his faltering footsteps up- 
ward into the care of Him who doeth all things well. 

The Author. 



(6) 



CONTENTS 

Eddies Page 1 1 

HUMOROUS 

Look Before You Leap 15 

If I Wuz a Bumble Bee 17 

The Graphophone 19 

A Lively Sprint 22 

Indiana 24 

Beans 26 

Gratitude 29 

Drip, Drip, Drip 30 

If I Knew What Doctors Know 32 

Negro Soliloquy 33 

The Hired Man 34 

Busted or Broke 36 

SENTIMENTAL 

Drifting 39 

At Peace 40 

The Two Angels 41 

Just Yesterday 44 

(7) 



When We Were Young 45 

In November 47 

When 49 

Let's Quit 5° 

To a Heart Flower 52 

Aphrodite : A Sonnet 54 

If I Should Die 55 

The Furrow 57 

Spring 59 

The Tear Kissed Violets 61 

To Robert Burns 63 

Along the Way 65 

An Empty Nest : A Sonnet 67 

My Creed 68 

The Lilacs by the Door 69 

At Sunset Hours 71 

Honeysuckles 73 

The Trumpeter 75 

To James Whitcomb Riley JJ 

The Whipper-Wills 79 

Were I an Artist 81 

When th' Vandivers Air Meller 84 

Reflections 86 

Outside the Gates 87 

Are There Flowers in Heaven ? 88 

Night 90 



(8) 



Song and Sunshine 92 

The Old Home 93 

Thanatos : A Sonnet 95 

The Little Shoe 96 

A Smile 97 

Thorns and Roses 98 

Panegyric 99 

Home Memories 101 

The Tippecanoe 104 

Falsehood 106 

The Rain 107 

In Memoriam 109 

My Bonnie Lassie in 

A Thought 1 14 

Life 115 

The Lone Lover 117 

The Sailor's Farewell 119 

"Angel Eyes" 121 

Over 123 

In Bethlehem's Manger 125 

Not Very Far 126 

An Old Letter 127 

To a Skeleton 129 

PATRIOTIC 

Don't Be Afeer'd 133 

The Boys of Sixty-four 135 

(9) 



Little Ben 138 

For Non-Immigration 145 

Me and Jim 147 

The Dying Soldier 153 

Battle of Manila 155 

The Last Recall 158 

Memorial Address 162 

Benediction 167 



(10) 



Eddies. 

Whirl and dance, oh little eddies, 
Dance and whirl in merry glee ; 

Ripple on the silver surface, 
Sing a cheering song to me. 

Oft in lone and weary hours, 

When the cares of life would throng ; 

When its pleasures seemed deserted, 
You have cheered me with your song. 

Sing your sweet and misty praises 
From the river's mellow deep ; 

Sweeter sound than song of seraph, 
Gently sing me off to sleep. 

Filled with rapture, I have listened 
To thy merry cheering song, 

Till transfigured on thy gurgles 
You have carried me along. 

Carried me to distant borders, 
Where the sunshine ever glows, 

Or the aurora-borealis 

Gleams with frost of polar snows. 

(ii) 



Or where tiny blue-bells tinkle, 
Blended with the angels' song; 

Where the fields of blooming flowers 
Waved in one continued throng. 

Where the songster's merry warbles 
Floated on the fragrant breeze, 

Charming ears of sleeping poet 
'Neath the river willow trees. 

Ripple, eddies, gay forever — 

Aye, forever, gurgle on ; 
Cheer the ones who follow after 

In my steps when I am gone. 

When life's river broads and darkens 
In its terminating sweep ; 

Sing, oh eddies, sing in praises — 
Sing me gently off to sleep. 

Sing and sparkle, litttle eddies, 
Sparkle like the morning dew ; 

In the course of life's great river 
I am but an eddy, too. 



(12) 



HUMOROUS 



Look Before You Leap. 

Sister heel a speckled cat. 

Thet speckled cat is dead ; 
It broke a cellar window slat, 

An' fell through on its head. 
You see, 'twuz apple-butter day — 

Tis sad it happened so — 
My pa had packed the jars away 

An' set 'em in a row. 

Then ma she tuck some paper down 

And tied across th' crocks 
Tth carpet chain, like goes aroun' 

Yer legs ter hold yer socks. 
An' where our cellar winder wuz, 

Thet cat broke through thet night— 
Jes' like a prowlin' critter duz — 

And sought a place ter light. 

He saw thet apple-butter jar 

Tth paper 'crosst th' top ; 
He jumped, alas, too hard and far, 

And landed in kerflop. 
Th' paper broke and through he went- 

What awful, awful woe! 
No way to check his deep descent 

Into th' jar below. 

(15) 



I saw upon th' winder case 

Thet kitten's footprints small — 
Where last had been his resting place 

Upon thet cellar wall. 
An' in thet apple-butter jar, 

Th' butter splashed about, 
'Twuz pitiful t' see that par 

Cat's tail a stickin' out. 

'Twuz really sad, a sad surprise ; 

I couldn't help but weep 
When gazin' on its closen eyes 

Ca'm in eternal sleep ; 
But thet air jar held sunthin' else 

Beside thet smeary plight — 
Th' idee not t' jump unelse 

You know jes' where t' light. 

I ain't been 'feard o' ghosts er ha'nts, 

Ner any sich o' like, 
Since I began ter wear my pants 

When jes' a little tyke; 
But when sin's way seems bright an' far 

Enticin me t' tread, 
I see an apple-butter jar 

Tth cat in on his head. 



(16) 



If I Wuz a Bumblebee. 

If I wuz a bumblebee — 

Bein's thet I hain't — 
And because I wasn't 

Didn't calculate complaint — 
But, if I had been a bee, 

Wouldn't it seem queer 
Not to have to work a bit 

All th' blessed year? 

If I wuz a bumblebee 

Would I rant an' buzz 
'Round th' people's flower beds 

Like the other'ns duz? 
Would I sit upon a bloom, 

Pry th' leaves apart, 
Teeter on the swayin' stem, 

Peerin' in th' heart? 

Deeply dive between th' leaves, 

Pull an' kick an' rend, 
Leavin' nothin' stickin' out 

But my stinger end? 
Hang suspended on my head, 

Holdin' with my feet, 
Gazin' at my image down 

In reflectin' sweet? 

(17) 



If I wuz a bumblebee — 

Wouldn't it be nice — 
Drinkin' fragrant clover dew 

Sweeter yet 'en rice; 
One 'ud surely bask in joy, 

Livin' like they do; 
Free from all th' care and woe 

Thet vexes me an' you. 

If I wuz a bumblebee, 

I would never sting; 
Never chase th' butterflies 

Er think o' sich a thing. 
I would only eat an' live, 

Happy as cud be. 
Oh, sometimes I wish I wuz 

Jes' a bumblebee. 



(18) 



The Graphophone. 

Now uv all thet man's invented 
Since the wicked serpent glinted, 
And our early father sprinted 

Frum th' garden where he wuz ; 
Nothin' ever caused th' walkin' 
And the drivin' an' th' talkin' 
An' th' crowdin' an' th' gawkin' 

Like these singin' boxes duz. 

I'll be skeert, it beats th' Nation; 
Seems as tho' th' hull creation, 
An' th' future generation, 

Is transfigured in th' spout. 
Then when it is set agoin' 
Like a river spring aflowin', 
Sweeter, clearer, louder growin' 

Anxiously it tumbles out. 

Though one's heart it seems a fillin' 
With a joy thet's truly thrillin' 
When he hears the robbins trillin' 

In the woodlands in th' spring; 
An' th' medder-larks a pourin' 
Out the'r music an' a soarin' 
An encorin' an' encorin' 

Jes' as hard as they kin sing; 

(19) 



When it comes right down t' bringin' 
All th' feathered tribes a wingin', 
And weighin' up ther singin' 

With a graphophone in gear, 
I can't argue fer a minute 
They would anywhere be in it — 
Either robin, lark or linnet — 

Any season o' th' year. 
How this strange contrapshun started- 
Half machine, yet human hearted, 
With th' sweetest voice imparted 

Thet a mortal ever heard — 
Is beyond my comprehension ; 
An' th' names o' sich extension, 
'Twould excite th' apprehension 

O' th' sweetest singin' bird. 

Onct I heard a preacher sayin' 
That a Grecian god was stayin' 
Up wher' Heaven's fields air layin', 

Standin' ready with his horn ; 
And each morning at his leisure, 
He would pour a certain measure 
Full of either grief or pleasure 

On each person that wuz born. 

Now, perhaps, some feller found him, 
Took his horn away an' bound him, 
Pour'd its trouble out around him — 
Fetched it back ter earth agin ; 

(20) 



Wound it up an set it singin' 
An' th' sweets o' heaven springin' 
Comes a pourin' out an' ringin' 
In th' eager ears o' men. 



(21) 



A Lively Sprint. 

I've seen fancy horses pacin', 

Clumsy dromedaries racin', 

Fleet raccoons and rabbits chasm', 

But o' all th' goin' some 
Thet I've ever been a seein' 
I'm obliged to be agreein' 
Wuz th' time when lot o' we'un 

Cann'd the preacher's bulldog home, 

Proud he was because he owned him ; 
Petted, fawned, ner never loaned him, 
So us fellers always stoned him, 

Every time he cum in town. 
Wuz a big, black, ugly feller, 
'Cept his tail, an' it wuz yeller; 
Bark an' howl, thet dog could beller 

Worse 'en any cow aroun'. 

Now it really wuz excitin' 
When he started off a kitin', 
Hardly takin' time fer litin' 

In his terror an' dismay. 
Jes' one long unearthly beller, 
Follered by a streak of yeller 
Wuz the tale uv every feller 

When th' dust had cleared away. 

(22) 



Like th' wind he went a skootin', 

Still a bellerin' an' hootin' 

Darted through th' glass a shootin' 

In th' preacher's dinin' room ; 
Jumped into a pot uv taters, 
Slopped his tail in the termaters, 
Fetched the cook an' all th' waiters 

Onter him with pan an' broom. 

Then they sallied in an' thrust him, 
Beat him hard enough to bust him — 
Called him ugly names and cuss'd him 

And abused him in disdain; 
All about th' pantry dashin', 
Sendin' glass an china smashin', 
Went th' dog, an' fin'ly crashin' 

Through th' kitchen winder pane, 

Landed in th' slop barrel sour, 
Splashed aroun' fer half an hour, 
Floundered out and tuck a "splougher" 

Through th' flower beds, alas ! 
And th' last acounting uv him, 
By th' ones who used ter love him, 
Wuz his yeller tail above him, 

Flaggin' through th' orchard grass. 



(23) 



Ind 



iana. 



Sun is shinin all th' time, 

Down in Indiana; 
Birds and poets sing to rhyme, 

Down in Indiana. 
Fragrant clover blossoms there — 
Scenting sweet the gentle air — 
And there's pleasure everywhere, 

Down in Indiana. 

Hain't no pests t' kill th' twigs, 

Down in Indiana ; 
Hain't no runts amongst th' pigs, 

Down in Indiana. 
Everything is fat and free, 
So undoubtedly you see 
Thet it's mighty nice t' be 

Down in Indiana. 

People hardly ever die, 

Down in Indiana; 
Babies very seldom cry, 

Down in Indiana. 
Natur' wears as sweet a smile, 
As warter frum a sugar spile, 
Drippin' on th' blessed sile 

Uv ol' Indiana. 

(24) 



Meclder larks their praises sing, 

Down in Indiana ; 
Makin' all th' medders ring, 

Down in Indiana. 
Robbins flit about th' nest, 
Half in earnest, half in jest; 
Pausin' now an' then t' rest, 

Down in Indiana. 

Thoughts uv death bring up a sigh 

Fer ole Indiana; 
And I only long t' die 

Down in Indiana, 
And be buried in th' soil 
'Neath th' fragrant pennyroyal, 
Where th' honeysuckles coil, 

Down in Indiana. 



(25) 



Beans. 

I like beans and ma likes peas, 
Dad don't like 'em; dad — well, he's 
Sort o' got his stomach set 
'Ginst things greasy like and wet. 
Dad likes mush an' milk, an' he'll 
Set right down an' make a meal 
Out o' mush an' milk, unelse 
We've got pie er sumthin' else. 
Fer as I'm kencerned, w'y they 
Ken take all such stuff away. 
It might be all right fer some 
Indian er tramp er bum; 
But ter please a farmer boy, — 
Make his heart flip up for joy, — 
Offer him, long side o' meat, 
All th' beans thet he ken eat. 

Leastwise thet's th' case with me. 
But all people don't agree. 
Someone's bound t' get amiss 
Subjects delicate as this. 
As fer me, I'll tell you what: 
Soup beans, steamin' from th' pot, 



(26) 



With th' pig tails in betwixt, 
Creamed and buttered up, an' fixt 
In a manner I'll allow 
Only God and ma knows how, 
Makes my heart swell up an' thump 
'Ginst my ribs with heavy bump. 



Don"t like these here butter beans 
Like ma cooks with sour greens — 
Them kind thet they had to sell 
At th' store fer quite a spell. 
Gee ! them beans they wuz a sight ; 
Cats slept in th' barrel o' night. 
But th' bean I do like best — 
Better'n any o' th' rest, 
Is th' little army bean, 
Cooked in with back-bone 'et's lean. 
Gee ! 'twere 'nough t' fat th' spleen 
Uv King Edward er his queen. 



So, with earnestness I say, 
If some feller's laid away 
Alabaster boxes rich 
In gay ointment an' sich, 
Thet he means to empty out 
On my grave with tear an' spout, 
I would simply ask if he — 
Since he thinks so much o' me — 



(27) 



Would present me while I'm here 
Somethin' in th' line o' cheer 
Thet would in tlr future dim 
Help me to remember him, 
And there's nothin' on God's greens 
Equal to a treat o' beans. 



(28) 



Gratitude. 

Hate ter hear th' people talk 
Uv the'r trouble, when it seems 

Thet th' very joys uv Heaven 
Trickle down in silver streams. 

Why, th' singin' o' th' birds, 
In th' medder an' th' wood, 

Is enough to drown in music 
All thet counteracts th' good. 

E'en th' thought thet one's alive, 
'Joyin' what he has ter eat, 

Orter set his heart ter thumpin' 
Like a distant pheasant beat. 

Orter change to pleasant mood 
All his rude ungrateful pout, 

Tellin' him thet life is pleasure 
If he only finds it out. 

Life is full o' sweet fer me, 
An' it's jes' as full fer you, 

As a honey-suckle blossom 

Runnin' o'er with Heavenly dew. 



(29) 



Drip, Drip, Drip. 

Hark, th' distant thunder ! 

Hear it vibrate and boom 
Frum th' coming tempest 

Thet is shadowing its gloom ; 
How th' mighty echoes 

Through the heavens fairly rip, 
Warnin' o' th' shower 

With its drip, drip, drip. 

What an apprehension 

Thet a feller sort o' feels 
When thet sinking silence 

O'er th' face o' Nature steals ; 
When th' air is quiet 

And th' lightnings fairly zip 
Jes' before a shower 

With its drip, drip, drip. 

'Taint thet one's a coward 

Thet he feels so sort o' queer, 
When th' jagged lightning 

Clips about a feller's ear; 
But I like it better 

When th' thunder packs its grip 
Jes' ter hear th' tinkle 

Of the drip, drip, drip. 

(30) 



Surely 'tis inspirin' 

T' hear th' pleasant rain, 
Falling from th' heavens 

In a tinklein' refrain ; 
Jes' ter see how Nature 

Drinks th 'rain with thirsty lip 
As it patters downward 

With a drip, drip, drip. 

Seems so sort o' soothin' 

T' a feller jes' tu hear 
Sound uv drippin' worter 

Tinker'n on a feller's ear ; 
Seems like dew o' heaven, 

Sprinkled by th' angel's trip, 
Fallin' out er Nature 

With a drip, drip, drip. 

One cud die with pleasure 

If he knew he would be laid 
Somewhere in th' orchard 

'Neath th' harvest apple's shade, — 
Where th' summer showers 

Through th' leaves above cud slip, 
And tinkle on his kiver 

With a drip, drip, drip. 



(31) 



If I Knew AVkat Doctors Know. 

If I knew what doctors know, 

Would I make a pill 
That would cure all human woe — 

Banish every ill? 
Would I mix a sugared stew 

That through future years 
Would transform to honey-dew 

Everybody's tears? 

If I knew what doctors know, 

I would surely make 
Lozenges of cookie dough 

For the belly-ache ; 
I would formulate a cure 

P'or th' rhumatiz. 
Grand-pap wouldn't need endure 

Terrors then like his. 

If I knew what doctors know, 

None should ever die. 
Little babes would kick and crow 

Never pout nor cry ; 
Youth and love would sweetly go — 

Trailing hand in hand. 
If I knew what doctors know, 

Wouldn't things be grand ? 

(32) 



Negro Soliloquy. 

Seems queer ter see the white fo'ks boun', 

An' run, an' sweat, an' bustle, 
While I jes' loaf an' set aroun' 

An' never has t' hustle. 

I lite my pipe an' suck de stem, 

Wha's cloggy like an' greasy ; 
An' watch de clouds ob smoke gro' dim 

While life seems jes' as easy. 

De sun it shines, de storm it blows, 

No use a tryin' t' shun it; 
De good Lawd up in hebben knows 

Jes' how he's gwine t' run it. 

Yah, haw ! It makes me haf t' give 

A chuckle jes' t' see, sah, 
How hard some people wo'k t' live — 

How easy 'tis fo' me, sah, 



(33) 



The Hired Man. 

Yes, I'm th' horied man, an' so 

Am workin' by th' day ; 
Get sixty cents beside my board 

And washin' fer my pay. 
I sleep out in th' barn o' nights, 

But that, you understand, 
Is but a feller's duty 

When he's some one's horied hand. 

They call me out at four o'clock 

T' do th ' mornin' chores ; 
I tend my team, milk seven cows, 

And clean th' stable floors ; 
Then when they dip my breakfast up 

An call me in t' eat, 
There's buckwheat cakes an' sorghum, too, 

That's mighty hard to beat. 

But then it gets monotonous, 

The same thing every day, 
Without an alternation ; 

In one's diet anyway; 
And then, at my suggestion 

For a change they say, "Good land ! 
"W'y, this is like th' grub we fed 

The other horied hand." 

(34) 



I'm in th' field at daylight, 

An' I stay till dark at night, 
Then do th' evening's choring 

By th' lantern's glowing light. 
They dare not catch me lagging, 

Else I'm likely t' be canned ; 
Nobody wants a lazy feller 

Fer the'r horied hand. 

I have no time fer pretty things 

Like flowers, birds and bees; 
No time t' smell th' fragrant blossoms 

Breathing from th' trees ; 
I can't see none o' nature's charms 

Thet poets call so grand, 
Perhaps th' reason is because 

I'm just a horied hand. 



(35) 



Busted or Broke. 

To know that you're busted or plum dead broke — 

As the term is quite often expressed — 
Is the ornriest feeling, I truly believe, 

That mortal man ever possessed. 
The singing of bird and the humming of bee 

May brighten the lives of some folk, 
But nature's sweet charms have no meaning, you see, 

To a fellow that's busted or broke. 

You always can know him whenever he's seen, 

And this is quite often, you know. 
He stands on the corner with hands in his jean 

And digs in the dirt with his toe. 
No pleasure in life, or in anything else, 

His actions and manners betoke; 
He looks like a peacock just plucked of his tail — 

The fellow that's busted or broke. 



(36) 



SENTIMENTAL. 



Drifting. 

Steal softly, lotus breeze, from lands of dream 
And kiss the waves that lisp beneath my oar ; 

Rock gracefully my bark upon the stream, 
While I drift nearer to the fragrant shore. 

How dance the eddies in a merry prank, 

And crowd my course in wild gyrating glee ; 

The wavelets rush to kiss the emerald bank, 
Then hurry back as though to welcome me. 

Somewhere another heart beats with the wave, 
And on the surge of time is drifting on 

Into that peaceful landing named the grave ; 
Oh, could I signal it before it's gone. 

Ah, wert thou here, sweet chorus of my song, 
The distant stars would flash a brighter glint, 

While we in ecstacy would float along 
And drift for ave in seas of sweet content. 



(39) 



At P 



eace. 



Say, now, it's sweet when one can go to bed 
And pull the covers close about his head, 
Smooth down his pillow so, without a crease, 
And say to all the world, I am at peace, 
Then sink in sleep lulled by the angel's tread. 

I am at peace. Ah, can we say that when 
Our footsteps wander the eternal glen? 
Can we review the course that we have ran 
Nor long to live life's season o'er again, 
Can say my soul is purely free from sin? 



(40) 



The Two Angels. 

Within eternity's dim shades, 
On heaven's fragrant heather, 

Two angels tripping through the glades 
Came face and face together. 

The one was robed in spotless white, 
Adorned with sweetest flowers ; 

His face was like the golden light, 
That fills the summer hours. 

The other one was dark as night, 
When moon and stars are fickle, 

And in his hand he carried tight 
An hour glass and sickle. 

Then said he to the angel Peace : 
Oh, most delightful creature, 

What wonder man will never cease 
To love thy blessed feature. 

The living love and bless your name, 
They rush with joy to meet you ; 

The evil cease their work of shame, 
And all unite to greet you. 

(41) 



They laud your name on every hand, 
From mosque to Christian steeple; 

They beckon you from every land 
To dwell among the people. 

While I, poor, ugly angel Death, 

Have no one to adore me ; 
And those I kiss, my chilly breath 

Soon withers down before me. 

The living shudder at my tread, 

They bid me come tomorrow ; 
They curse me while they view their dead 5 

Yet tremble in their sorrow. 

Oh, Heaven, must it ever be 

That I will cause all dying? 
I feel so sorrowful, said he ; 

Then kneeled and fell a-crying. 

Then spoke the blessed angel Peace : 

The dead are only sleeping; 
Oh, Angel, rise, thy trouble cease, 

And do not sit a-weeping. 

'Tis true, the living dread your name, 

Perhaps they love me better ; 
,Yet yours will be eternal fame 

.When you have struck life's fetter. 

(42) 



And in the joy that dying brings 

With me in rest forever, 
They then will bless your raven wings 

That bore them o'er the river. 



(43) 



Just Yesterday. 

Just yesterday there came the breath of love upon my 
cheek, 
A little hand lay tenderly, confidingly in mine; 
My soul enjoyed that rapture that no tongue can sing 
or speak, 
For cupid glances softly fell from other eyes in mine. 

Just yesterday I breathed the scent of rich carnations 
rare, 
I caught the glint of bridal colors beautiful and gay — 
A pretty face, a sunny smile, a fluff of golden hair, 
A voice that still re-echoes from the distance far 
away. 

Just yesterday I did not know that love could ever die, 
Did not forbode its sunny dream would any time be 
o'er. 
Alas ! its wave receded, leaving me in grief to lie 
Along with other broken hearts on life's tempes- 
tuous shore. 

Just yesterday a little hand in mine grew chill and cold, 
And hesitatingly was drawn reluctantly away ; 

Long time has filled the difference and the years have 
swiftly rolled, 
Yet in my heart it seems to me just only yesterday. 

(44) 



Wnen We Were Young. 

Mother, ain't it different since the children all have 
parted, 
Leaving us together while life's shadows deeper 
grow? 
Yet the birds are singing in their homes among the 
branches 
Jes' like they used to sing so many years ago. 
See, along the terrace how the jessamines are blooming, 
See the sweep and tackle where the mossy bucket 
hung — 
Let's take a stroll again down along the river, 

Down where we used to go when both of us were 
young. 



Once your hair was raven and your cheeks were like the 
roses, 
When we made acquaintance, in our simple childish 
glee; 
Then we went a-wading thro' the water after cattle, 
And I plucked the flowers that I proudly brought to 
thee. 
Now the frost of winter has descended on your shoul- 
ders, 

(45) 



And your hair is whiter than the lilies that I brung— 
Let's take a stroll again down along the river, 

Down where we used to go when both of us were 
young. 

Dear are the elm trees, tho' wrecked with time and 
tempest, 
Where I proposed to you, then wept with tears of 

joy; 

Still I can hear your voice in answer to my pleadings 

As I promised I would be your own, your darling 

boy. 

Love's time is beautiful, tho' sweet and sad its story; 

And its evening curtain is but all too quickly swung — 

Let's take a stroll again down along the river, 

Down where we used to go when both of us were 
young. 

Mother, you remember how we used to walk together 
Through the sun and shadow where the flowers 
bloomed so gay; 
How we sweetly promised that through life's uncertain 
weather 
Hand in hand together we would wander all the way. 
Years have come and vanished with alternate joy and 
sorrow, 
Yet we two are faithful to that song of love we 
sung — 
Let's take a stroll again down along the river, 

Down where we used to go when both of us were 
young. 

(46) 



In November. 

Since all the flowers hev' gone t' sleep, 
And all the leaves hev' fallen, 

It seems that I ken hardly keep 
Frum bustin' out a-bawlin'. 

There ain't no robins singin' now, 
Ner medder larks a-trillin', 

Ner sparrers chirpin' in th' mow 
To keep one's heart a-thrillin'. 

And so I'm kind o' feelin' sad, 
An lonesome like, an' dreary ; 

There's nothin' thet's a bein' glad, 
Ner tryin' to be cheery. 

Yet, when I think that after while 
When winter's gloom is over, 

The kindly light again will smile 
On fields of fragrant clover, 

And balmy southern breeze will bring 
A flush of bloom and berry, 

Along with happy birds to sing, 
And make th' woodlands merry, 

(47) 



My heart seems light and free from care ; 

I gaze with joy above me, 
An' feel so glad thet God is there 

And Ma is here t' love me. 



(48) 



Wh 



en. 



When will that hope which we so often cherished 

Be realized? 
That proud desire long ago which perished 

Regenerized ? 
Ah, when ? That fancy steeped in sweets of pleasure 
Which we so often sipped in hours of leisure, 
Develop in our hearts desire and treasure, 

We idolized. 



When will the skies that drizzle mists of sadness 
Transform and glow? 

And fragrant winds waft in a breath of gladness 
We could not know? 

When? Trust and hope to Heaven tripping nigher, 

We elevate our souls to realms higher, 

Until at last we grasp that rich desire 
We wanted so. 



(49) 



Lets Quit. 

Let's each one of us quit saying 

Evil things about each other ; 
Let's show more appreciation 

And regard for one another. 

Then, perchance, if one should stagger 
In life's double-quick of hurry, 

Let's the rest of us encourage him 
And tell him not to worry. 

Let's quit draining human nature 
Of its better half, then throwing 

All the dregs among our neighbors — 
Set the other half to growing. 

Sad it is that we so often, 

Through some word unthoughtly spoken, 
Or an act unmeditated, 

Burst some blessed friendship open. 

How the whole of us together 

Could transform this old world sweeter, 
Make the tired scales of justice 

Take a horizontal teeter, 

(50) 



If we would but tune our hearing 
To the higher song above us, 

And rebuke the gossip's slander 
Of the friends who truly love us. 



(so 



To a Heart Flower. 

Oh, little heart, why do you tremble so 
At each gentle summer breeze that stirs to blow ? 
Why is it your little head 
Always hangs its face of red 
And the dewy tears you shed 
Drip and flow? 

Don't you know the sky is blue 

Far away? 
And that everything but you 

Now is gay? 
Can't you hear the hum of bees 
Borne upon the fragrant breeze 
From the blossom laden trees, 

Every day? 

Then why need you look so sad 

All the while ? 
It were better to be glad. 

Just a smile 
Would transform your drooping face 
Into one of light and grace; 
Cruel tears would lose their place 

Afterwhile. 

(52) 



Ah, did Cupid with a dart 

From his bow 
Seek to pierce you, little heart, 

Long ago ? 
Did that arrow's flight so brief, 
End in disappointment's leaf, 
Causing you to break with grief 
And to flow ? 

Ltttle flower, once my heart 

Was heavy too, 
And I knew not in that hour 

What to do. 
Then I gazed in mute despair 
High above, and God was there, 
And he freed my heart from care 

Through and through. 



(53) 



Aphrodite: A Sonnet. 

Strange Goddess, cradled by the earth's first turn, 

Most laudable of all in Grecian fame, 

How with thy mystic lyre dost thou tame 

The flinty hearts of men, that they do yearn 

To look in other eyes and gazing learn 

Affection, stronger yet than any band 

That e'er was fashioned by a Vulcan's hand, 

And love for love is given in return? 

When sweep thy fingers o'er the magic strings 

Old hearts and young start with a pleasant thrill, 

And time's sweet evolution duly brings 

The longed-for issue of their anxious will. 

Thus like the universe of heaven above 

Earth still is governed by the God of Love. 



(54) 



If I Skould Die. 

If I should die, would some one shed a tear 
Of heavy grieving o'er my humble bier? 
Would some one pause a moment just to lay 
Upon my pall a fragrant, dewy spray 
With words of sad regret — if I should die? 

If I should die, what would the people say? 
Would they all congregate respect to pay? 
Would some one stoop to touch a marble brow, 
And say a noble life is finished now, 
He rests in sweetest peace — if I should die? 

If I should die, would some one shake his head 
And say 'twere better that he should be dead, 
The mighty universe will still move on, 
We'll soon forget him now, since he is gone, 
His day is duly spent — if I should die ? 

If I should die, would anybody care 

That I had gone away, somehow, somewhere 

Into a realm never to come back 

Across the foosteps of my former track? 

That I had gone to stay — if I should die? 

(55) 



If I should die, I wonder which 'twould be — 
Respected, mourned or spurned by man's decree- 
Would I go down loved by my fellowmen, 
Or followed by an execrating grin 
Of persons who were glad — if I should die ? 



(56) 



The Furrow. 

Each of us must make a furrow 
In the stony sands of time 

That will yield to us tomorrow 
Fruits of nobleness or crime. 

Make the sands of time productive, 
Deftly till the soil with care, 

Lest the seeds that we may scatter 
Fall to earth and perish there. 

Every act that we accomplish, 
Every base or noble deed, 

Insignificant and little, 
In the furrow is a seed. 

Each seed falling in the furrow, 
Good or bad, will upward creep ; 

What we scatter in the morning, 
In the evening shall we reap. 

Let us, then, be sure and careful, 
Choose the seed with eyes discreet ; 

Good grains scattered by the sower 
Spoileth sooner than the cheat. 

(57) 



May the bad seed lie distended, 
Soe the good on yielding spot; 

Evil deeds are oft remembered 
When the good are long forgot. 

Soe, that when the evening falleth, 
And our harvests we shall reap, 

That our arms may not be empty, 
Tares not overcome the wheat. 

Let us plow the furrow deeply, 

Crowd the stubborn plowshare in, 

That will leave a trail tomorrow 
Sands of time can not fill in. 



(58) 



Spring. 

Sweet Spring, with days like clover dew, 
So clear, and bright, and fragrant too, 
I love to sing in praise of you, 

My humble lays. 
I fain would set in brighter hue 

Thy bonnie days. 

Wherever wandering footsteps trend 
So far as earth and air extend, 
Wherever seasons change and blend, 

Tis very true 
No seasons such enjoyments lend, 

Sweet Spring, as you. 

Sweet Spring, why need you haste away ? 
Why can you not for always stay 
And let your sunlight ever play 

On hill and stream, 
And make all life a holiday 

Of happy dream? 

Because a fate there must befall 

Relentlessly to seasons all. 

And each must answer to the call 

When it is due — 
E'en writer of this humble scrawl 

Must answer too. 

(59) 



Sweet Spring, I hate to see you go 
Because it is I love you so ; 
Yet in my heart I truly know 

That it must be; 
And so I whisper sweet and low, 

Good-bye to thee. 



(60) 



Tke Tear Kissed Violets. 

One pleasant morn in April 

A woodland stroll I took, 
And paused to pluck some violets 

That grew beside the brook. 

I carried them to mother 

In simple boyish whim, 
The fragrant dews of morning 

Still dripping from the stem. 

She took the smiling blossoms, 

She held them in her hand, 
And sweetly smiled upon them 

With looks serene and bland; 
And then a change of features 

Came o'er that angel face, 
A look of love and pity 

My memory e'er will trace. 

But not a word in answer 
Fell from her closen lips ; 

Instead the teardrops gathered 
And fell in diamond drips 

To kiss the bunch of violets 
Whose faces sweet and blue 

Were smiling up to mother 

Through mists of tears and dew. 

(61) 



And then with words of kindness 

And tender, grateful look, 
She placed those dainty violets 

Within our Holy Book; 
And there through years of changes, 

Through years of grief and joy, 
Still lie that bunch of violets 

I gathered when a boy. 

Though time's unfathomed waters 

Have drifted us apart, 
The tear-kissed bunch of violets 

Is anchored in my heart. 
What though they're crushed and faded, 

No gold could buy away, 
The little sprig of flowers 

I plucked that April day. 



(62) 



To Robert B 



urns. 



In fancy's flight I drift away, 

Where Scotland's pleasant highlands lay 

I hear the ancient bag-pipes play 

A merry tune ; 
I hear the water lisping gay 

In bonnie Doon. 

And here upon the fragrant strand 

I see a little cabin stand, 

With flowers twining rich and grand 

About the door — 
The sweetest home in all the land, 

Although so poor. 

Oh, Robert Burns, thy humble birth 
But magnifies thy noble worth, 
That flashes on the British hearth 

A brighter flare, 
And draws from other "Hopes" of earth 

A jealous stare. 

Here in thy mountain-clinging shell, 
Amid the scenes you loved so well, 
Thy touching strains of lyrics fell 

With thrilling sound, 
Re-echoed on from dell to dell 

The world around. 

(63) 



'Twas here you sang such touching praise 

Of country life and country ways, 

Of mother home, and sweetheart days 

In such a rhyme ; 
It drove away the misty haze 

Of winter time. 

'Twas here you learned from Nature's lips 
That wisdom which so seldom slips, 
And poured it out in jingling drips 

So sweet and clear; 
Its beauty unrelaxing grips 

To fancy's ear. 

Small wonder that thy songs impart 
Such inspiration to the heart 
That sentimental thrills will start 

And buoy us on, 
Till earth, transfigured, seems a part 

Of Glory's dawn. 

Thy blessed strains, through all the years 
Will be resung with joy and tears, 
Until each heart and spirit nears 

With one accord, 
And each shall bear his brother's fears 

Before the Lord. 



(64) 



Along Tne Way. 

Along the way, there's many things to do, 
There's many hearts that should be spoken to, 
There's many little words that you may say 
To cheer a weaker soul, along the way. 

Along the way, where roses blossom red, 
Temptation's fragrant thorn may lift its head ; 
Then pluck it not, but turn in haste away, 
The path will seem more bright, along the way. 

Along the way, while everything is bright, 
May fall the shadow of a stormy night. 
Stand firm ; the sunshine of a brighter day 
Will fall before your feet, along the way. 

Along the way, someone may trip and fall, 
Perhaps may beckon you with plaintive call; 
Ah, then my brother, for one moment stay, 
And lift the fallen one, along the way. 

Along the way, somebody may be lost 
And soiled and blighted by sin's cruel frost ; 
Extend to such, a friendly hand, I pray 
And lead them nearer Christ, along the way. • 

(6 5 ) 



Along the way, you may be jostled hard, 
Perhaps o'ercrowded off the safer sward ; 
If so, with prayerful words this act repay, 
And God will help you back, along the way. 



(66) 



An Empty Nest: A Sonnet. 

Deep in the forest dell I found a nest, 

Empty and silent, swaying to and fro, 

Rocked by the breezes that did gently blow, 

Nor for a moment seemed to be at rest. 

Wrecked was its structure by the brambles pressed 

Once 'twas the home wherein wee nestlings lie 

Blinking with wonder at the summer sky, 

Longing to soar upon its airy crest. 

So may my soul be strengthened day by day, 

And graced by patient waiting year by year, 

That I might long to rise and soar away 

When that last hour to me is drawing near 

To that great realm, where in peace and rest, 

I'll leave- behind the old deserted nest. 



(6 7 ) 



My Creed. 

Not high in name would I aspire to be, 

Nor great in something that the world calls gain. 

God grant to me a soul from sin set free, 
A Christian name without a blot or stain. 



Some peaceful place that I may call my home, 
Though humble and secluded it may be. 

Thy love and grace will cheer me through the gloom 
And lead my footsteps upward unto thee. 



(68) 



Tke Lilacs By the Door. 

Thro' mists of time I see a cot, 

A humble cot, rude, thatched and low, 
With lilacs shedding and overspreading 

A little moss-grown portico. 
I see some one in humble gear 

Among the fragrant blossoms there, 
And 'tis no other than my mother 

In our family rocking chair. 

She's sitting there in peaceful rest, 

And gently rocking to and fro ; 
She's softly singing and sweetly bringing 

Gay memories up of long ago. 
How oft at close of summer's day, 

When all its toil and care was o'er, 
I'd find her sitting, engaged in knitting, 

Among the lilacs by the door. 

No painter skilled in works of art 

Could e'er produce so sweet a scene, 
Such lilacs blooming, the air perfuming, 

And mother sitting in between. 
But whither is the picture, pray — 

The lilacs and the portico? 
The vines have crumbled, the porch has tumbled, 

And mother, too, is lying low. 

(6 9 ) 



Sweet memories never fade away — 

Oh, mother dear, where'er you be, 
Can you hear me crying and sadly sighing 

Now in memory of thee? 
Oh ! What would heaven be to me 

Save mother dear had gone before ? 
I'm contemplating that she is waiting 

Among the lilacs by the door. 



(70) 



At Sunset Hours. 

When sunset hours passing slow 
Draw floods of glory to the west, 

As down the sun sinks into rest 
And evening shadows deeper grow. 

The clouds reflect a brilliant hue 
Of blended colors, red and gold; 

Still gentler tints their bosoms hold, 
That drift into a sea of blue. 

The verdant grass with dew is wet, 
Yet parting radiance lingering high 

Seems loath to quit the darkening sky, 
For long ago the sun has set. 

What will the sunset be to me 
At closing of life's little day 

That bears me with it far away 
Into the great Eternity? 

My heart seems yearning for the time 
To meet the ones I used to know 

So many, many years ago, 

Before they tripped to higher clime. 

(71) 



Oh, golden ocean, from thy tide 
Sweet voices calling I can hark, 

Seem urging to me to embark 
And ferry to that other side. 

Yes, oftentimes there comes to me 
A dreaming of the great beyond, 

Vague as before life's hours dawned, 
As mystic in obscurity. 

And O! how happy! Can I know 
I leave behind a thread of gold, 

That other eyes with joy behold, 
When to eternal realms I go ? 



(72) 



Honeysuckles. 

Honeysuckles, Honeysuckles — 

Ain't they beautiful and sweet 
As they vine in gay profusion 

Over everything they meet? 
How th' blessed little blossoms, 

Smiling thro' a mist of dew, 
Seem to speak a tender message 

Of God's love t' me an' you. 

Oft I've wondered that in heaven, 

Where there's music in th' air, 
If th' blessed honeysuckles 

Ain't a bloomin' everywhere. 
Wonder if, in distant ages, 

Some good angel didn't throw 
'Suckle seeds from beds of Heaven 

To this pleasant world below, — 

Jes' ter' cheer us when discouraged, 

Jes' ter help us on our way, 
As we trod life's thorny pathway, 

In its course from day to day, 
Honeysuckles— how their beauty, 

In a way I can not tell, 
Seems to throw a cheerful halo 

'Round th' home we love so well. 

(73) 



Oh, how sad it is to ponder 

On what future has in store; 
Time will bring its cruel changes 

And the home will be no more. 
Then no more we'll hear th' clatter 

Uv th' gate we entered through, 
As we tripped th' graveled pathway 

Where th' honeysuckles grew. 

Honeysuckles, Honeysuckles — 

How each blossom floods and drips 
With th' dew thet trickles downward 

From th' angel's finger tips. 
When a feller falls ter thinkin' 

Life is but a soggy loom, 
One ken see a heap o' Heaven 

In a honeysuckle bloom. 



(74) 



The Trumpeter. 

He took his tiny trumpet, 

With golden gilded rim, 
That on the eve of Christmas 

Old Santa brought to him — 
All day he promenaded, 

But when nights' shadows crept, 
He closed his little eyelids 

And quietly he slept. 

And while in peaceful slumber 

He heard from distant shore 
The echo of the trumpet 

He blew the day before, 
And then he must have followed 

In eagerness and sought 
The gaily painted trumpet 

That Santa Claus had brought. 

Thro' meads of smiling flowers 

That poured their fragrance sweet, 
And sprinkled dewy showers 

In bending 'neath his feet ; 
O'er mossy banks of brooklets 

His little footsteps strayed, 
Nor paused beside the water, 

Nor in refreshing shade. 

(75) 



And then, alas! my darling 

Did stray too far away, 
And 'mongst the heavenly blossoms 

He must have lost his way ; 
And angels must have found him 

And placed within his hand 
A clearer, sweeter trumpet 

And joined him to their band. 

Oh ! would that when I weaken, 

And when my feet must trip 
Through clouds of sombre shadows 

Where dews of darkness drip, 
That through the gilded portals, 

From heaven's happy den, 
The echo of his trumpet 

Will welcome me within. 



(76) 



To James Wkitcomt Riley. 

Jim Whitcomb, how I love to praise 
Thy worthy name and charming lays, 
That in the balance far outweighs 

The sweetest dew, 
And sets the skies of stormy days 

To deepest blue. 

Within thy lines there may be heard 
The hum of bee and song of bird, 
Through which luxuriantly is stirred 

A sweet perfume 
Of bursting buds, whose fragrance curd 

With clover bloom. 

Thus daintily within thy song 

The joys of summer run along, 

And seem to cheer us through the throng 

Of cruel cares, 
That fain would lead our footsteps wrong 

When unawares. 

And thus it is with thirsty lip 

We drink thy strains with eager sip, 

While fancy takes a deeper dip 

In thy refrains, 
That jingle like the tinkling drip 

Of summer rains. 

(77) 



And so in happy pride we claim 
A neighbor's right upon thy name, 
That sets our State to greater fame 

For noted race, 
And makes the happy Hoosier home 

An envied place. 



(78) 



The Wkipper- Wills. 

Like ter, on a summer's evening, 
When th' moon comes o'er th' hills, 

Move my cheer out in th' doorway, 
Lis'nin' t' th' whipper-wills. 

When th 'pinchin' bugs go skootin' 
Through th' darkness here and there, 

And the night owls wheel an' flutter 
Thro' th' balmy summer air. 

When th' care of day is over 
And th' stars begin t' gleam, 

Hear 'em call in all directions — 
Every woodland seems t' teem. 

When th' ripple uv th' river, 
As it works its weedy way, 

Seems t' float away th' trouble 
Thet accompanies th' day, 

Like ter set out there a smokin' ; 

Fer tobaccer smoke, you see, 
Sort o' skeers away muskeeters 

Thet come 'round t' bother me. 

(79) 



Like ter smell th' fragrant zephyrs 
Uv th' summer nights, when they 

Steal so sleepy-like and lazy 
Cross't th' fields uv clover hay. 

It is then thet life is pleasure 
When it seems thet one ken hear 

Jes' th' very voice uv' nature, 
Whisper n' in a feller's ear. 

You ken' talk uv sleighin' parties, 
And uv huskin' bees and such, 

But there's none uv all them doin's 
Gives me pleasure quite so much. 

Tell you what, it's sort o' soothin' 
Jes' ter know thet you ken still 

Move your cheer out in th' doorway 
Lis nin' t' th' whipper-will. 



(So) 



Were I An Artist. 

Were I an artist and could trace 
And gild the lines with skill'd art, 

And color with artistic grace 
The features dearest to my heart. 

If I could blend in colors gay 

The face that memory holds most dear, 

Ah, quickly would my pencil stray 
And set the same on canvas here. 

Whose would it be? Would I produce 

A military hero brave, 
Who spurned and scorned a flag of truce 

And fell to fill a soldier's grave? 

Would I on canvas fringed with gold 
Produce a king of distant age ? 

Or with a magic stylus mold 

The thoughtful brow of bard or sage? 

Or would I paint a blushing maid? 

With cheeks like dawn of summer skies, 
In silk and jewelry arrayed, 

With Cupid glances in her eyes ? 

(8r) 



Not so; but with a hurried hand 
A rare Madonna would I paint, 

And laud her name throughout the land 
As truest friend and purest saint. 

A mother's face, with snowy brow 
Festooned with locks of silvered gray, 

Upon whose lips I know not how 
The very smiles of Heaven play. 

A greater far than wisest sage, 
Or king by hosts of servants fed, 

Who sank to live on history's page 
Crushed by the crown upon his head. 

She is one, braver far than he 
Who fell in battle's deadly strife ; 

For she for years successfully 
Contended with the cares of life. 

More beautiful than blushing maid, 

As virtuous as she is fair, 
By Love's enticements ne'er betrayed, 

Unknown to vice's cruel snare. 

Hers would I paint, and finished, gaze 
Upon my work with brimming eyes, 

And beg those lips in choicest lays 
To speak and break their silent ties. 

(82) 



But delving in such thoughts as these 
Subjects the heart to greater pain. 

I strive to hurl them to the breeze 
And rest in hope to meet again. 

Meet where the flower-scented breeze 
Will fan the cheek in sweet caress, 

And where the song-birds in the trees 
Will pour their notes in sweetest stress. 

And where the saints of earth rejoice, 
And from the farthest of the dell, 

At every sound of mother's voice 
The echoes answer, ''All is well." 



(83) 



Wken tli" Vandivers Air Mell 

When th' vandivers air meller 

Air cum droppin' frum th' tree, 
Jes' as sweet an' plump an' yeller 

As a vandiver kin be — 
When th' golden sun drifts over 

Thro' a sky uv' azure blue, 
When th' fields air full o' clover 

An' th' clover's full o' dew — 
Oh, it's then thet life is pleasure, 

If it ever is at all, 
When one's kind o' at his leisure 

In th' airly part o' fall. 

When th' vandivers air meller 
How one's heart '11 rise an' swell, 

An' he feels thet he must beller 
Out as loud as he ken yell ; 

Fer there's sum'thin' really thrillin' 
In th' beauty o' th' days 

Thet air bilen' up an' spillin' 

Out their wealth uv yeller rays. 

Oh, I'll tell you what's th' matter, 
Fall is jes' th' time o' year 

Fur a feller ter live fatter 
If his appetite's in gear, 

(8 4 ) 



er. 



An' enjoy life's sweetest strippins 
Thet air sprinkled all around, 

Kind o' like th' meller pippins 
Thet hev pattered t' th' ground. 

When th' vandivers air meller 

An' one's heart is meller, too, 
Ain't it dandy fer a feller 

When he's nothin' much t' do, 
Jes' ter saunter through th' orchard 

In a keerless sort o' way, 
Unconcerned, nor vexed, nor tortured 

With th' troubles uv th' day? 

Flounder down amongst th' clover, 

Give his hat a backward shove, 
While th' shadders flicker over 

Through th' apple leaves above ; 
Sit and crunch th' apples meller, 

Watch th' sparrers dart an' skim, 
Feelin' thet no other feller's 

'Joyin' life so well as him. 

I hev' heer'd th' fellers tellin' 

Uv th' seasons uv th' year 
And th' ones thet wuz a swellin' 

With th' heartiest uv cheer ; 
But until I must surrender 

An' be kivered in a pall, 
I shall ever rant th 1 splendor 

Uv th' airly part o' fall. 

(85) 



Reflections. 

As sweet were the hours as dew of the morning, 
When life was a fountain o'erflowing with bliss 

That showered a mist o'er the flowers, adorning 
The depth of my heart with an innocent kiss. 

When robins chirped sweetly in thickets and hedges, 
And lilacs and roses were everywhere seen, 

The brook that is choked now with mosses and sedges 
Was dancing and sparkling, a silvery sheen. 

The marshland and meadow with bees flitting over, 
The nightingale's whistle, and pheasant's quick beat, 

The tinkle of cow bells in pastures of clover, 
Come back to my mind with a pleasant repeat. 

But changes must come and the farm scenes have van- 
ished 

That one time afforded a picture sublime, 
And I from the scenes of my childhood am banished, 

Life's river is choked now with driftwood of time. 



(86) 



Outside the Gates. 

In folds of sun the day was laid, 
The sky was blue and all was fair; 

Outside the door my darling played 
Among the grass and flowers there. 

Inside, in pleasant work beguiled, 
Unnoticed hours stole away; 

I hurried then to call my child, 
Lest into danger he should stray. 

I raised the latch, and called his name, 
And anxiously I stood in wait ; 

Then back in childish treble came — 
"I'm only just outside the gate." 

Sweet innocence and kindred days, 
How nice it is when happy youth 

Ne'er from parental counsel strays, 
Nor turns away from honest truth. 

I've wondered since how it will be 
When at the heavenly courts I wait 

For answer to my plaintive plea — 
"I'm only just outside the gate." 

(87) 



Are There Flowers In Heaven? 

Air there flowers in Heaven, I wonder, 
Up there where the seraphim sing, 

Where there ain't any lightning ner thunder, 
Ner hornets ner locusts to sting? 

Up there where the beautiful glimmer 
Uv sunshine falls day after day, 

And yet not a dewdrop t' shimmer 
On a bud er a blossom er spray ? 

Say, wouldn't it seem kind o' funny, 
T' stroll through thet heavenly sheen 

An' breathe uv th' fragrance uv honey, 
And yet not a bloom to be seen? 

No lilacs a-shadin' th' doorway, 

No buttercups deckin th' sod, 
No pink beds a-fringin' th' pathway 

Thet leads through th' gardens uv God? 

No pastur' fields bloomin' with clover, 
Where robins an' medder larks sing, 

With butterflies flutterin' over, 
And honey-bees out on the wing? 

(38) 



O, surely th' infinite powers 

Thet fashioned th' earth long ago 

Hev fixed in th' heavenly bowers 
A place fer th' flowers t' grow. 

If they ain't I am kind o' a thinkin' — 
Though all may be tolerably fair — 

If there ain't any flowers in heaven, 
Things surely will look purty bare. 



(8 9 ) 



Nigkt. 

Again 'tis night ; the air is soft and warm, 
The birds and bees have all retired to rest, 

And nature with her ever-guarding arm 

Wraps close her darkening folds about her breast. 

A pleasant scent the rose and lilacs lend — 
A sweet perfume that seems content to stay ; 

While now and then the fragrant odors blend 
That drift from fields of new-mown clover hay. 

Within the folds the cowbells gently tink, 

The little lambkins jump, and frisk, and play ; 

All creatures seem with eagerness to drink 
The fragrant zephyrs of receding day. 

The noisy frogs monotonously croak, 

The crickets chirp accompaniment it seems, 

And oft we hear the echoes clearly broke 

By prowling night-owl's weird, thrilling screams. 

Down by the dock the river's lisping lip 
Throws kisses to its pebbled, mossy shore. 

Soft peals of laughter rise, and splashy drip 
That falls from evening pleasure-seekers' oar. 

(90) 



Sweet night, what gentle charms thou dost enthrall, 
How gently nature yields to thy behest, 

When like a veil thy darkening shadows fall 
To wrap the noisy world in quiet rest. 

And as the stars their tiny places fill 

And waning evening into darkness grows, 

All creatures hush and everything is still, 
Wrapped in the silence of a sweet repose. 



(91) 



Song and Sunshine. 

Jes' a little fleck o' sunshine, 
Jes' a little snatch o' song, 

Has a mighty heap o' cheerin' 
To encourage one along. 

When life's day is dark and stormy, 
And the rain will fall and run, 

All can quickly be made pleasant 
With a little fleck o' sun. 

When we feel downright discouraged, 
And life's troubles seem t' throng, 

We can often be encouraged 
With a little snatch o' song. 

Song and sunshine, blent together, 
O ! how sweet th' two may be, 

How they often make a feller 

Feel his heart flood o'er with glee. 

When I'm feelin' sad an' gloomy, 
An' all things seem goen' wrong, 

Give me jes' a fleck o' sunshine, 
Jes' a little snatch o' song. 

(92) 



The Old H 



ome. 



Tis sad to view the old home 

I left when but a boy, 
For memories awaken 

That are not akin to joy. 
The teardrops flood my eyelids 

So that I can hardly see 
To view again the old home — 

It is so dear to me. 

Tis sad to view the old home, 

For things are altered so— 
The fennel claims the dooryard 

Where the clover used to grow. 
The chimney now has fallen, 

And the moss is growing o'er 
The clapboard-covered portico 

That slants above the door. 

'Tis sad to view the old home 

Since all the rest are gone; 
Remembrances awaken 

That I sadly ponder on. 
I wander down the pathway 

And through the orchard's shade, 
And note the many places 

Where in infancy I played. 

(93) 



'Tis sad to view the old home, 

For everything is still, 
And something more impressive 

Makes my heart to strangely thrill. 
Oh, time, reform this homestead; 

Oh, time, bring back to me 
The features of the dear ones 

That I long so much to see. 

'Tis sad to view the old home, 

'Tis sadder yet to leave ; 
Oh, were it in my power 

Time's impressions to retrieve. 
I only trust and flounder on 

Through life's uncertain loam, 
That I shall meet my loved ones 

In a neater, sweeter home. 



(94) 



Thanatos: A Sonnet. 

Oh, chilly monster, is thy icy hand 

The Alpha and Omega of that sphere 

From which mysterious bourne thou dost appear 

To lead us through thy mystic shrouded land ? 

Pray, dost thou hail from Hades' stifling strand, 

Where Cerberus in frenzy shrieks and howls, 

And Archeron sweeps on with thundering growls, 

And tortured spirits trip the burning sand? 

Ah, no, 'tis from a sweeter, higher clime 

And by a better path thou drawest nigh 

To lull us to repose a little time, 

Soon to awake in realms beyond the sky, 

Where with the Gods we may forever be 

Transfigured in our immortality. 



(95) 



Tke Little SW. 

There's a little old shoe in the closet, 
All soiled with the dust and the years, 

All spotted and stained and besprinkled 
With a lone mother's grievous tears. 

Time once brought a beautiful baby 
To chatter and patter and play ; 

And then, in his innocent beauty, 
Time suddenly took him away, 

And left me alone with my sorrow, 

Solitary and nothing to do, 
But think of my desolate future 

And weep o'er his little old shoe. 

Oh, where have the little feet strollen 
That played in these shoes long ago, 

That wandered all 'round the plantation 
In the beautiful summer-time's glow? 

They're tripping somewhere with the angels, 
Somewhere in the heavens of blue ; 

And all that awakens remembrance 
Is a little, old, worn-out shoe. 

(9$) 



A S 



mile. 



Hast thou a smile hid somewhere in thy heart ? 

Don't, miser-like, conceal and bind it there, 
But let it from thy generous self depart — 

Perhaps 'twill lighten someone else's care. 

Perhaps 'twill cheer some weak, discouraged soul 
Whose luckless road hath led him far astray ; 

Perhaps 'twill give him strength that he may roll 
The stumbling stone within his path away. 

Then should reverses come in after years 
And thou wouldst need another's kindly aid, 

That smile may glimmer back through misery's tears, 
Reminding thee to whom it first was paid. 

'Twill be a help to drive thy care away 

And lead thee in thy noble journey higher, 

Until at last will dawn the glorious day 

When thou canst reach the goal thou didst aspire. 

Then toss a smile wherever you may go, 

In some dark place 'twill strike a spark and burn ; 

Such little acts quite often root and grow 
And recompense to us a rich return. 

(97) 



Thorns ana Roses. 

Ever people are complaining 

To each other, I suppose, 
Jes' because our Heavenly Father 

Put's th' stickers with th' rose. 

And when cruel thorns of trouble 
Fill th' pathway of their feet, 

Keep complaining 'cause our Master 
Mixed the bitter with th' sweet; 

Never stoppin' to consider 

What this world would be if He 

Were to pluck away the roses 
Frum the path of them an' me ; 

Leavin' naught but thorns and trouble 
In our footsteps day by day — 

Roses might be purty helpin', 
Jes' ter cheer us on our way. 

'Pears to me we should be grateful 
And complainin' strive to scorn, 

An' be thankful fer th' roses 
Thet He puts among th' thorn. 

( 9 8) 



Panegyric. 

Can humble swain, with dusty brow, 
His rudely sculptured verses sing 

In tribute to the one who now 

Lies blighted by death's cruel sting? 

To one who through life's mystic spell - 
Stood firm and true to good and right, 

Who bore her sad affliction well 

And went away with sweet Good Night? 

Her work is done and free from crime — 
Oh, God, that such a life could blight. 

Flow gently, softly, flood of time, 
Give us a chance to grieve aright. 

And while we gaze with tearful eyes 
Upon our dead, through mists of flowers, 

We need not shudder with surprise, 
For that same destiny is ours. 

We need not grieve ; the night that falls 
And sprinkles dew tears on the lawn, 

And darkly heaven and earth enthralls. 
Is but a prelude to the dawn. 

(99) 



Tis sad about her bier to stand, 
And yet 'tis sweet to know that she 

Trips with the angels hand in hand, 
Robed in her immortality. 

We can but hope and trust through all 
And tread the narrow path she ran. 

Soon angel hands will raise the pall 
And we can greet her once again. 

Oh, let us bow with reverence low 
And hurl to heaven floods of prayer, 

For God needs help, yet well we know 
A new auxiliary is there. 



( IOO) 



Home Memories. 

Thinkin' uv 'em kind o' worters 

Up my mouth, and sort o' draws 
Sumthing thet is sweet an' runny 

From th' corners uv my jaws; 
And my eyes they kind o' simmer 

And somehow or 'nother get 
Like my mouth does in a manner 

Sort o' wortery an' wet. 

When I think about th' pleasures 
And th' joys I squandered while 

We were all at home together 
Back in Indianer sile. 

Blessed is old Indianer, 

Blessed air th' days o' youth, 

Crowded with their happy pleasure 

And their innocence and truth. 

Sets my heart t' heavy thumpin' 

When I ponder o'er th' scene 
Of a good ol' fashioned breakfast 

An' th' time thet's slipped between. 
Sorto hurried like and graceful, 

Yet unnoticed, it has slid 
Like Ma used t' slide th' griddle 

'Crosst th' cook stove's iron lid. 

( ioi ) 



Buckwheat cakes and maple syrup 
Was th' family table's wealth, 

And its wholesomeness was proven 

By our ruddy rustic health. 

Used ter like t' watch my mother 
Dip th' foamin' batter in, 

Watch th' little air holes gather 
In th' upper side — an' then 

See her quickly flop an' turn 'em 

With dexterity uv hand 
That would far excel th' wonder 

Uv a fairy's magic wand. 
And then, oh, how sweet they tasted, 

Drippin' with their syrup wealth, 
T' th' seven happy youngsters 

All as hungry as myself. 

When we gathered 'round th' table, 

Greeted with a mother's smile 
That would all our trouble banish, 

All our childish woe beguile. 
But those scenes and pleasures vanished, 

Sorto somehow couldn't stay, 
And like dew on summer mornings 

Jes' arose an' went away. 

Makes my heart feel jes' as heavy, 
When I think uv youthful days, 

As th' buckwheat cakes some mornin's 
When th' batter wouldn't raise ; 

( 102) 



And I long t' greet th' faces 
And th' mother's cheery smile, 

Like when all was home together 
Back on Indiana sile. 



( 103 > 



The Tippecanoe. 

Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Oh, the Tippecanoe ! 
Where the moss and the flags and the calamus grew — 
Where the white lily lifted its Puritan face 
And nodded its head with Helenical grace — 
Where the willows in pride undulatingly swayed 
And shadowed the ground with their beautiful shade — 
Where the tangling grape vines in luxuriance hung, 
And chattering squirrels on the tree branches swung. 

Oh, the Tippecanoe! Oh, the Tippecanoe! 
Most beautiful stream 'neath the heavenly blue, 
With far sweeter waters than ever have burst 
To quench the fair Hoosierland's ravenous thirst — 
Where the deep heavy thud of the hoarse thunder- 
pump 
Awakens the echoes with thundering thump — 
Where the hoot-owl's complaint and the teeter-tail's 

scream 
Are drifted away with the laugh of the stream. 

Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Oh, the Tippecanoe ! 
My spirits rejoice at remembrance of you 
And the hours I spent in the golden-clad yore, 
In lounging and strolling upon thy green shore, 

( 104) 



How oft when a boy on thy banks I have lain 
And listened with joy to thy gentle refrain, 
Till shadows from dreamland would over me creep, 
Thy gurgling laughter would lull me to sleep. 

Oh, the Tippecanoe ! Oh, the Tippecanoe ! 
Where the most fragrant zephyrs of Hoosierdom blew, 
Where the ruddiest hours of boyhood were spent 
And the happiest pleasures were merrily blent. 
Ah, me, when I think of the days that have fled, 
Sweet memories haunt like the thoughts of the dead — 
I long for my boyhood, I long for the blue 
Of the rollicking, frollicking, Tippecanoe. 



(105) 



Falsehood. 

That little lie that's whispered by 

To set each tongue a quiver, 
From groundless source oft runs its course 

Into a mighty river. 

Then joined along with words of wrong 

It swells beyond a measure, 
And sweeps away a life so gay 

Of all its hope and pleasure. 

We may not know, by talking so, 
That we are harming others ; 

But then the blame may fall the same 
Upon our dearest brothers. 

And ere we know they slip and gc 

And sink in ruin under, 
While other eyes in great surprise 

Look on in guileless wonder. 

So do not shame your neighbor's name 

Because his step is humble ; 
For soon his route may change about 

And you in turn may stumble. 

(106) 



The Rain. 

Plink, plink, plinkety plink, 
Down comes the rain with a jingling tink, 
Down comes the rain from the heavens above, 
Beautiful proof of God's wonderful love. 
See how it drips from the edge of the eaves, 
See how its freshens the grass and the leaves, 
See how the clover heads blink from the sod, 
And holly-hocks sway with a welcoming nod. 
Plink, plink, plinkety plink, 
Nature is eagerly rousing to drink. 

The sun hides its face while the beautiful rain 
Comes pattering over the roof and the pane, 
Dashing its spray on the side of the wall, 
Faster and faster the little drops fall. 
Creatures seek shelter with gallop and bound, 
While dewdrops of heaven fall thickly around. 
Sometimes our lives seem as pure as the rain, 
Nothing provoking a cause to complain, 
Nothing to alter life's delicate trend, 
That threads on its way to its beautiful end. 
Fragrantest flowers bloom over our way, 
Showers of blessing fall day after day, 
Desires are soon in reality dressed, 
Fate gracefully bows at our every behest. 

( 107) 



Then there are times when the shadows wili fall 
O'er the blue of the skies like a darkening pall, 
Obscuring the light, and the storms will appear, 
And rain with the mist of the grievous tear. 
Our trouble will rise and our sorrow will loom 
Gigantic and thick in the gathering gloom, 
Our spirits will sink and our bosoms will swell 
And we seem to be chained with the demons of hell. 
How strangely we find our life's uneven lane 
Alternately flecked with the sun and the rain. 
How strangely the bitter the sweetness decoys, 
And sadness winds on through our meadow of joys. 

Plink, plink, plinkety plink, 

Through joy and through sadness 'tis pleasant to think 
That hovering high o'er the storm clouds above 
God shields and protects with his glorious love. 



(108) 



In M 



emoriam. 



A certain master — noble, wise and good — 
Into his flower garden strolled one day 

And 'mongst the smiling blossoms paused and stood 
To choose himself a beautiful bouquet. 

And as he searched among the blossoms there 
A bloom of wondrous beauty met his eyes ; 

He stood and gazed upon the flowers fair 
With looks of admiration and surprise. 

Then thus he spoke to his attendants near 

While pride and pity swept his handsome face ; 
' 'Tis shame to have this blossom blooming here, 
'Tis far too sweet to bloom in such a place." 

Then stooping low, amid the fragrant throng, 
He plucked the smiling blossom from the rest, 

And said, 'Til plant it where it doth belong," 
Then kissed and pinned it to his mighty breast. 

And there 'twill be through all the flood of years, 
Its petals all ablaze with heavenly glow ; 

'Twill waft its fragrance back through mists of tears 
Into the garden where it used to grow. 

( 109) 



Sweet reader, in whate'er your fancy delves, 
In whatever walks of life your footsteps trend, 

Remember that our tombs we gild ourselves 
And life is not a dream with empty end. 

Remember that the echoes backward fly, 
That time shall recompense with interest due ; 

The soul of man was never born to die, 
But shapes itself by what we think and do. 

Then let us only truth and right regard 

And each in turn our bounties shall be given, 

Life's eve will bring the blossoms of reward, 
Plucked by the angels from the beds of heaven. 



(no) 



My Bonnie Lassie. 

My bonnie lassie, how I long 

To bask within her smile once more, 
And whisper softly in her ear 

The love my heart is swelling o'er. 
Ah, cruelly has fate decreed 

That she and I should drift apart, 
But lapse of time can only make 

Her memory dearer to my heart. 

Ah, ne'er can I forget the night 

When by the barn we stood alone 
Beneath the moonbeam's silver light; 

'Twas there I claimed her for my own, 
'Twas there I proudly held her hand, 

I kissed her lips in rapturous glee, 
'Twas there in honeyed words of love 

She promised to be true to me. 

Within their little cots above, 

Low hidden 'neath the garnered grain, 
The pigeons in instinctive love 

Cooed words as tender as our own. 
Ah, sweeter far than linnet's song 

That charms the day when spring is here, 
Or clearest note of haverlark, 

Were those sweet words upon my ear. 

(no 



I would not, could not then believe 

Their sound would die away so soon, 
And all our sparkling dew of love 

Would melt ere it attained its noon. 
And when I muse on former times, 

Upon her words my memories rise 
And fancy turns to days of yore 

And delves in happy paradise. 

But fate is fierce, and time is mad 

And recompenses every hour, 
And often breaks the dainty stem 

Before the bud unfolds the flower. 
And so her love grew chill and cold, 

She eyed me with a rude disdain, 
And strive however as I might 

Her fallen love I could not gain. 

Another came in jealous mien, 

Came like the winds across the lea, 
And whispered tender, winning words 

And stole her love away from me. 
All summer long he pressed his suit — 

I watched in jealousy beside — 
Then when the forest foliage fell 

He claimed my dearie for his bride. 

Within the woodland by the brook 
That ripples off beneath the trees 

Where happy song-birds pause in flight 
To pour their sweetest melodies, 

(112) 



The sunlight penetrates the leaves 

And searching o'er the checkered ground, 

As though 'twere searching, yet in vain, 
For some one who could not be found. 

There in a lowly narrow bed 

That tender flowers fain would hide, 
Sleeps one who left a friend alone 

And went to be another's bride. 
Farewell, dear heart, the years have rolled 

Since first her hand grew cold to me ; 
Lead, kindly death, that I may go, 

And join her in eternity. 



(113) 



A Tkougtt. 

Grasp all chances while you may, 

Fortune changes like the sky, 
Pleasure can not always stay, 

Happiness is born to die. 
Life is cloudy at its best, 

Strike for truth and honor hard, 
Leave to destiny the rest, 

Time will bring its own reward. 



(in) 



Life. 

Is Life a dream with hollow, empty end, through 
which the mighty generations trend in eternal, per- 
petual succession? 

Some mystic oracle that lies within that unbound 
gulf 'tween heaven and hell, into which nature cries 
with animating voice and, lo ! there issues forth the 
carnal man? A prodigy of brute, to bide a while, a 
very little spell, in this mysterious realm that we call 
Life? Then sink away within the vortex of the gulf 
of death, forgotten by his fellows, consigned forever 
unto darkness and oblivion? 

Not so. This little life so weak and faint is but 
a prelude to the great beyond, a preface, mere, where 
mortal man may view an index to the mighty human 
soul. 

Man is not born to die, but fashioned in the like- 
ness of the One who breathed the winds, who fixed 
the stars and sounded ocean's depth, and scattered 
to the wind the seed of flowers to decorate and beautify 
the world. He holds the mold of life within his hand 
and fashions his own soul to its eternal form and fits 
it in its everlasting orifice. 

Else by his carnal nature weighs it down, far down 
below the great Redeemer's sight, until it sinks for- 
ever, enveloped in the mists, that rise between the 
infernal banks of Acheron. 

(115) 



O, soul ! robed in the original attributes of God, 
'tis but by bending low to the great laws of nature, 
Heaven and man, we might attain to that great realm 
where with the angels we may trod the pathways of 
the Gods, robed in the splendor of our immortality. 



(116) 



1 ne Lone Lover. 

Sweet Tip'canoe, with bonnie bank 

Where flowers blossom fresh and gay 
Where lilies floor the rushes rank 

And mellow breezes softly play, 
How is it that your liquid lips 

Can lap the shore in misty kiss, 
While from my eyes the tear drops drip, 

Sun melted dew of morning's bliss? 

Sweet Tip'canoe, it seems to me 

That by your quiv'ring monotone 
You fain would ask why it should be 

That I should feel so sad and lone? 
Ye need not ask — I need not tell — 

Oft have you seen together here 
The maiden that adored me well 

And I who treasured her so dear. 

How oft upon these banks we've Iain 

Beneath yon spreading willow tree ; 
She sang her love in sweet a strain 

As thou art singing now to me. 
Now, Tip'canoe, that one is gone, 

Her memory, tho', is green for aye, 
Aye, greener than the banks upon 

Which humble bard his tributes pay. 

(H7) 



Ah, now, I fancy, Tip'canoe, 

Your laugh has changed to pitying moans 
You sympathize with poet who 

Is rencled now with sighs and groans. 
Glide on forever, river blue, 

And let your ripples laugh and prank, 
And sing a dirge the ages through 

To maiden sleeping on thy bank. 



(i*8) 



The Sailor" s Farewell. 

Out beneath the apple blossoms, 

Uniformed in suit of blue 
Stood a sailor who was bidding 

To his love a last adieu. 
Close he held her to his bosom 

While she hung her pretty head, 
Then in low and softest whispers 

These sweet words he gently said : 

"Good-bye, my dear little darling, 

It is duty that takes me away, 
And if I never more meet you 

Remember the words that I say. 
I will be true to you ever, 

And to the flag that I love ; 
Good-bye, my dear little darling, 

Meet me in heaven above." 

Far away in distant harbor, 

'Mid the crash of shot and shell, 
Nobly standing at his duty 

Lo! the gallant sailor fell, 
Then they raised him faint and bleeding, 

Tore his bosom folds away, 
Forth there fell a maiden's picture — 

At its sight they heard him say : 

(119) 



"Good-bye, my dear little darling, 
It is duty that takes me away, 

And if I never more meet you 
Remember the words that I say, 

v I will be true to you ever, 

And to the flag that I love ; 

Good-bye, my dear little darling, 
Meet me in heaven above." 

Out beneath the apple blossoms 

Sits a waiting heart alone, 
Sadly she is recollecting 

All the happy hours flown. 
Sad, oh, sadly she remembers 

All their plighted vows to wed, 
And his last fond loving kisses 

And the parting words he said : 

"Good-bye, my dear little darling, 

It is duty that takes me away, 
And if I never more meet you 

Remember the words that I say, 
I will be true to you ever, 

And to the flag that I love ; 
Good-bye, my dear little darling, 

Meet me in heaven above." 



( 1 20 ) 



Angel Eyes. 

Sometimes when I gaze at the star-studded skies 

And bask in the light that is given, 
Methinks that the stars are the beautiful eyes 

Of the sentinel angels in heaven. 

And some are so modest and timid and small, 
And some are so brilliant and glowing, 

Yet ever the silvery glances that fall 
A wistful expression is showing. 

And two above all in the glimmering sky, 
So bright in their beautiful splendor, 

Awaken sweet memories long flitted by 
With glances so winsome and tender. 

I think of a beautiful one that is gone, 

Of one whose soft lashes are closen, 
And anxiously wait for that radiant dawn — 

When I to his side shall be chosen. 

How sweet is the hope lying deep in my breast 
That when from the earth I am going, 

Those beautiful eyes from the gardens of rest 
Will tenderest glances be throwing. 

(121) 



And finally when home in the heavenly skies 

Along with my beautiful lover, 
We'll gaze on the earth and with anxious eyes 

We'll beckon our other friends over. 



( 122) 



o 



ver. 



Long years ago when life's hours were dewy, 
Dewy and fragrant with pleasures of youth, 

Then I was happy, for there was another 
Holding her heart as the proof of my truth. 

Oh, to live over those hours of childhood, 
Oh, to see over those features of tan. 

I could live happy in pleasure forever 
Kissing her ruby lips over again. 

Well I remember how often together 
Over the banks of the river we strolled, 

How we would wander through sylvian shadow, 
Gathering buttercups brighter than gold. 

Little we dreamed as we prattled together, 
Soon all our beautiful pleasure would fade ; 

Time thundered on with impetuous motion, 
Leaving me here with the thorns that it made. 

Now she is sleeping beneath the green elms 
On the same banks where the buttercups grew, 

Lonely and sad I am anxiously waiting 

To join her above in the heavens of blue — 

( 123 ) 



There to live over the days of my childhood, 
There to see over her features of tan, 

There to live happy in pleasure forever 
Kissing her ruby lips over again. 



(124) 



In JBethlenem s Manger. 

Oh, the night was sweet and the skies were blue, 
The moon laughed out and the stars shone too — 
And soft were the glances they gently threw 

Into a manger peeping. 
For there in a stall where the white sheep lay, 
Cunningly cuddled amongst the hay, 
Dozing the beautiful night away 

The Christ child lay a sleeping. 

Far up in the skies the angels sang, 
The harps rang out with a merry twang, 
And down the ages the echoes rang, 

For great was the joy above Him. 
So sweet and so clear was their merry song, 
That people marveled His beauty long — 
Which son transfigured their lives of wrong, 

For the whole world came to love Flim. 



(125) 



Not Very Far. 

Not very far, O Love, have we to go 
Until the setting of the sun shall glow ; 
Not very far, perhaps, till you and I 
Must leave each other in a last good-bye, 
Not very far, O Love, not very far. 

Not very far, yet can we join in song 
And pray and hope and strive to right the wrong, 
And in our acts of love and kindness spray 
Life's path with joy, Life's path that leads away 
Not very far, ah no, not very far. 

Not very far adown life's little lane 
So fraught alternately with joy and pain, 
'Tis but a season, till our feet must trend 
Amid the shadows looming at the end. 
Not very far, ah no, not very far. 

Not very far until the bars shall fall 
And we will answer to the Shepherd's call ; 
Together let us trip Death's mystic dell 
And leave behind the ones we love so well 
Not very far, ah no, not very far. 



(126) 



An Old Letter. 

'Twas only a faded letter 
And written with gentle pen 

That I found in the dusty garret 
Which I hastily rummaged in. 

A letter old and yellow 

Still holding a sweet perfume 

Which stole from its musty pages 
Pervading the dingy room. 

And drawing forth the papers 
Rescanning the scented page, 

I traced the tiny letters 
All weak and dim with age. 

The spots where tears had fallen 

Upon its pages fair 
Were mingled with the crimson, 

Of bloody smirches there. 

I thought of my early manhood, 
When off with the Boys in Blue 

I tried as a gallant soldier, 
A soldier's task to do. 

I thought of the awful trenches, 
I thought of the bloody night 

When the letter came to cheer me 
Through the thickest of the fight. 

( 127) 



And how as I gleaned its message, 
The anxious tear drops slipped, 

And how from my wounded forehead 
The drops of crimson dripped. 

How my poor weak heart grew stronger 
When I read by the lantern's glare 

That a heart in the dear old homestead 
Was praying my safety there. 



( 128) 



To a Skeleton. 

Thou nameless horror, lost to fame and song, 
What has aroused thee from thy narrow bed? 

Hast thou returned to right some ancient wrong, 
Or tell the terrors of the silent dead ? 

Pray, what has been thy station, and what name 
Has been thy title when instinct with life 

Thou passed through time like other men the same 
And marked the sweet and bitter of its strife ? 

Oh God, was this strange clattering thing a man — 
A man who lived and loved with human heart 

Is this to hold the eternal soul again ? 

What wonder at its sight we cringe and start. 

Wert thou an alien to the soil thou trod 
Or nomad native of this ancient glen? 

Dissatisfied to sleep beneath its sod 

Ye seek to mingle once again with men. 

Did thy brute jaws e'er open to reveal 
The love and passion burning in thy breast, 

And did thy ivory teeth e'er close to steal 
A honeyed kiss from one thou loved the best? 

Hast thou within the revel castles gay, 

Plighted the wine cup with the ladies fair, 

And danced in ecstacy the night away, 

That should have found thee kneeled in earnest 
prayer? 

( 129) 



From thy cadaverous eyes perhaps have fell 
The grieving tear drops o'er another's bier, 

While that which claimed the one you loved so well, 
Unrealized to you was drawing near. 

What brought thee down? — for once in manhood 
proud, 
Thy eye was bright, thy cheeks were red with 
bloom, 
Forgetting then the terror of the shroud, 
Thou seemed a triumph o'er the silent tomb. 

Didst thou amid the cannons' heavy boom 

Press hard the stirrup 'gainst thy hated foe, 

And charging madly through the smoky gloom, 
Sink down at thy opponent's saber blow? 

Or didst thou in some dungeon's inky cell, 
Far down beneath thy victor's revel halls. 

Entombed alive within a fireless hell, 
Wail out thy soul to the unpitying walls? 

Disease, perhaps, did mark thee for its prey, 
And love and care could not avail or save 

While day by day thy spirits wore away 
And sank at last into the silent grave. 
* * * 

Ah, time will hold its secrets safe and well, 
With all the mysteries which Death is rife, 

Till God shall speak and break thy silent spell 
And fill thy hollow breast again with life. 

( 130)' 



PATRIOTIC 



Don t Be A£eercL 

When Abe Lincoln he got riled up, 

Tom McCabe, Jack Brown an' me 
All agreed to jine the army 

And to set the niggers free, 
But before we had enlisted 

Jack he hinted he was skeered, 
Then sez Tom an' slapped his shoulder, 

"Don't be afeer'd, Jack, don't be afeer'd." 

On the morning when we started," 

Tom an' I, we crossed the wood, 
Cut down through the clover pastur' 

Where Brown's house and orchard stood, 
It was hard to see Jack leaving 

Thet ole home wher' he wuz reared, 
As he told his crying mother, 

"Don't be afeer'd, Ma, don't be afeer'd." 

We had seen two months of service, 

Hadn't been much fighting done, 
But one day they flanked us proper, 

Charged with bayoneted gun — 
Then we drew up, stood in silence, 

Step by step th' rebels neared, 
Then Tom hunched Jack with his ramrod — 

"Don't be afeer'd, Jack, don't be afeer'd." 

( ^33 ) 



Then when all of it was over, 

On returning from the chase, 
Lo! I found Jack in the grasses 

With a rigid upturned face. 
Tom was bending close above him, 

And with tears his eyes were bleared, 
As he told the dying soldier — 

"Don't be afeer'd, Jack, don't be afeer'd." 



(134) 



Tke Boys of Sixty-Four. 

Deep sleep the Boys of 'Sixty-four 
Through clear and stormy weather ; 

They fell beneath the flag they bore — 
The Blue and Gray together. 

They rushed to arms at Lincoln's call 

And gallantly assembled ; 
They hurried to the front to fall 

While all the nations trembled. 

Strew flowers o'er their lowly graves, 
Let tender words be spoken ; 

They struck the shackels from the slaves, 
Which lie forever broken. 

Ye lowly ranks of silent dead, 
When God thy tombs has riven 

The earth shall tremble from the tread 
Of marshaled troops of heaven. 

And angel guards will lead the way 

Where battle hells infernal 
No more shall break the glorious day 

Of peace and love eternal. 

(135) 



There Blue and Gray alike will stand, 
And clasping hands together, 

Will stack their arms at God's command 
To live in peace forever. 

No more to run the charge between 

The cannon's heavy rattle, 
No more to view the awful scene 

Of raging hells of battle. 

No more to hear the victors' yell 

O'er fallen foeman lying — 
The scream of shot, the burst of shell, 

The groans of wounded dying. 

Sleep on, poor boys, for angel wings 
Will guard thee through thy slumbers, 

Until the heavenly trumpet rings 
To rouse thy fallen numbers. 

Sleep on ! The cruel strife is o'er, 

Old Glory still is waving, 
Reflecting light to every shore, 

Encouraging and saving. 

No foeman's hand shall e'er despoil 
Our land of peace and flowers. 

God grant one law, one flag, one soil, 
Forever may be ours. 

( 136 ) 



Oh, fallen boys in blue and gray, 
Sad have your lives been given, 

And though you're ranked in death today, 
You're ranked alive in heaven. 



( 137) 



Little Ben. 

Just a year ago this Christmas — 

How the time has slipped away — 
I remember all thet happened 

Just as though 'twas yesterday. 
While the mery bells were ringin', 

After bein' 'way so far, 
Fightin fer his country's honor, 

Little Ben came home from war. 

When our President McKinley 

Asked th' States fer volunteers, 
And th' Boys in Blue responded 

With enthusiastic cheers, 
It was then thet little Bennie — 

Was our only child, you know — 
Got into his head th' notion 

Thet he though he'd like t' go. 

He had grown up tall an' handsome, 

He was twenty-one ; but then 
Somehow it seemed sort o' soothin' 

Jcs' t' call him Little Ben. 
Well, he kep' a coaxin', beggin', 

Asked me sometimes twice a day 
If I didn't want t' let him 

Jine th' troops and march away. 

(138) 



But I sort o' held my answer — 

It was somewhat hard, you know, 
For a loving, gray-haired father 

Jes' t' up an' tell him "Go! 1 ' 
But I saw it was his notion 

And his nature was t' roam, 
Saw he'd never 'mount t' nothin' 

If I kep him here at home. 

So one evening after supper, 

When th' milkin' all was done — 
We were settin' 'roun th' fire — 

Ben as usual begun. 
But I checked him in th' startin' 

And I looked him in th' eye, 
And my voice it shook a little, 

But I braced up an' sez I : 

''Ben, I see you're bent on goin', 

But we need you here, you know ; 
Yet if nuthin' else '11 do you, 

You kin pack 'er duds an' go." 
Then I drove him t' th' city, 

Only four short miles away — 
Both of us were deeply thinkin', 

Didn't talk much on th' way. 

Then he left me, near th' station ; 

I stood 'round a while, an' then 
I was just a gettin' ready 

Fer t' drive back home asrin, 



k ta J 



( 139) 



When I heard th' sound of music 
And th' tramp of many feet, 

And I saw th' soldiers comin', 
Swiftly comin' down th' street. 

As I glanced among th' faces 

Of th' soldiers as they passed, 
There I caught a glimpse of Bennie- 

He was steppin' quick and fast, 
He was in among th' others, 

They were marchin' two an' two, 
In his hands he held a musket, 

On him was a suit o' blue. 

Then he paused as he passed by me, 

Tuck my hand and then he said : 
"Well, good-bye, Pap, I'm a goin' — 

Then swept on with martial tread 
And th' last I saw of Bennie 

As he started off so far 
Was his broad-rimmed hat a wavin' 

From th' winder of th' car. 

Well, I went back to th' wagon 

And I drove back home alone, 
Thinkin' sadly of th' future 

And how fast that Ben had grown. 
Me an' Mandy kep' a workin', 

Even harder than before, 
Knowin' that our only stand-by 

Wasn't with us any more. 

( HO) 



Then we got a letter from hint— 

Sed thet he was well and he 
Would be ordered with th' others 

To th' islands of th' sea. 
Well, a month had passed, I reckon, 

When we got another one — 
Just a single sheet of paper — 

Looked a little like a dun. 

Then my hands they shook and trembled 

As I broke th' seal away; 
Drawing out th' scrap I read it — 

Sounded sompthin' this 'er way: 
"I am writin' in th' trenches, 

And th' boys are fallin' fast; 
And there is no calculatin' 

Just how long th' fight '11 last. 

"We have only one short hour 

To refresh ourselves, an' then 
We'll be ordered with th' others 

Back into th' fight agin. 
If I live an 'God is willin', 

I will come back home agin." 
Then it winded up by sayin', 

"From your own son, Little Ben." 

Then my eyes began to water 

And I couldn't see no more, 
And th' paper somehow fluttered 
From my fingers t' th' floor. 

(ho 



In a week we got another — 
Envelope was black an' red — 

It was written by the captain — 
Mandy opened it and read: 

"Your son Ben has nobly fallen 

Fer a cause that's just and right; 
He was killed while bravely chargin' 

Through th' thickest of th' fight, 
And he has no stain or tarnish 

On his glorious career." 
This was signed by Captain Davis, 

Indiana Volunteer. 

Mandy bursted out a cryin', 

Worried 'round and couldn't rest, 
But I knew that God had done it 

And that God knew what was best. 
Pained me, though, t' think him lyin' 

Low beneath a foreign sod, 
But we'd give him to his country, 

To his country and his God. 

Well, th' farm was goin' reckless, 

Time sped on with awfel bound, 
Till a year ago this Christmas, 

When a little change came 'round. 
We were settin' in th' kitchen — 

Me an' Mandy there alone — 
She was silent, I was thinkin' 

How th' days had swiftly flown. 

( 142) 



When I heard th' porch a-creakin' 

And a rap upon th' door — 
And it sounded as familiar 

As it had in days of yore. 
Well, I wheeled 'round in my rocker, 

Dropped my corn-cob pipe, and then 
Cleared my throat and looked at Mandy, 

Muttered, thoughtlessly, "Come in." 

Then the door it slowly opened, 

Slowly opened up, and then 
Standin' there upon th' threshold 

Was our long-lost Little Ben. 
And he sprang across th' kitchen, 

And he tuck me by th' hand, 
And I kissed him and caressed him 

As a father only can. 

And th' tears they kep' a fallin' 

On his suit of gold and blue, 
And I 'spect thet some was leakin' 

From my crusty eyelids too. 
'Twas a false report, I reckon, 

That our noble Ben had fell ; 
How my ole heart went t' beatin' 

When he turned up safe and well. 

Then we knelt and went t' prayin' 
That all cruel wars would cease, 

And th' glorious white-winged angels 
Spread their loving wings of peace— 

(143) 



Spread their wings and floating o'er us, 
Sound their trumps and sing agin, 

As they used to in Judea, 

"Peace on earth, good will to men." 



C 144) 



For Non-Emigration. 

Curtain thy gateway, O land of Columbia! 

Heed not the clamoring voice of the world ; 
Forbid the stranger to trample the shadow 

That falls from our banner too freely unfurled. 

Long has it swung from the back-ground of heaven 
Over the stretch of the land and the sea; 

Nor can a slave stagger in its reflection 
But that his life is forever made free. 

Many the hearts that have thrilled at its flutter, 
Nor have their conquesting spirits been dumb, 

Swift as the wind that is swept by the heaven, 
Faster and faster the emigrants come. 

Hark to the already babel of voices — 
Foreigners' voices, so greedy and cold; 

Naught do they care for the honor of freedom, 
Naught but the glint of American gold. 

When first our gates were thrown open to greet them, 
Pathways bloomed forth opportunity's flowers. 

Soon they were trampled, through hasty confusion, 
By the fierce vultures of alien powers. 

(145) 



Did our brave sires who fell in the struggle 
At the fierce storming of old Bunker Hill, 

Purchase the liberties they have entrusted 
To us, to squander away at our will? 

No, it is sacred, this present of freedom, 
As the dear graves where our forefathers lie ; 

It should be handled with greatest discretion, 
'Tis to be guarded with envious eye. 

Mark how Athena, in days of the ancients, 

Lifted the latch that the Spartan might come 

Mark how that greedy and jealous usurper 
Slew the kind parent that gave him a home. 

Curtain thy gateways, O land of Columbia! 

Heed not the shriek of the foreigners' cry ; 
Turn to thine own for thy self-preservation, 

Turn to the stranger when ready to die. 



(14$) 



Me and Jim. 

We'd lived together all our lives, 

Was raised together — me an' Jim — 
So that where one of us was found 

The other one was there with him. 
We swam together in the pond, 

And slept together in the mow, 
And rambled through the fields and wood, 

And life was pleasure, I'll allow. 

'Twas then we sipped youth's honey-dew 

That time doth cruelly decoy; 
'Twas then our steps seemed sprinkled o'er 

With sugar-sand of sweetest joy. 
At school we didn't do so well, 

Was punished daily as a rule; 
Somehow 'twas always me an' Jim 

Thet had t' stay in after school. 

And in th' spellin' classes when 

Th' master called on us t' trail 
Up ter th' front, 'twas me er Jim 

Thet tuck our places at th' tail. 
But school days smiled and sped away, 

We grew t' manhood — me an' Jim — 
I was sort o' short an' blunt, 

And Jim was sort o' long an' slim. 

(147) 



Then when th' Murphy girl moved in 

Our neighborhood, th' fellers they, 
Were all a cussin' me an' Jim 

Because her smiles came our way ; 
But take th' hull thing through an' through, 

Somehow er tother I cud see 
She favored me, bit more'n Jim — 

Had sort o' sot her eyes on me. 

Well, then, Jim he grew crust and cold, 

He didn't treat me as before, 
And things went on from bad to worse, 

Until Jim wouldn't speak no more. 
One night when I was comin' home 

I met Jim in th' road, an' he 
Low'd ter kill me if agin 

He ever sot his eyes on me. 

But when th' papers came agin 

I read thet Jim had gone away 
Ter some big town in Tennessee 

And there enlisted with th' Gray; 
But I'd made up my mind ter stay 

Here with th' old folks on th' farm, 
An' try ter watch an' keer fer them 

When all th' country was alarm. 

But when th' papers told about 
Th' fightin' at Chancellorsville — 

Where Stonewall Jackson met our troops 
And sent 'em tearin' down th' hill — 

( 148) 



'Twas then my blood began ter bile, 
I couldn't stand it any more ; 

I longed ter teach th' stubborn grays 
A reverence fer th' flag we bore. 

An' so I left th' folks at home 

With all th' summer's work t' do ; 
Went to th' city, and when there 

Enlisted with th' Boys in Blue. 
An so one night in early June 

I heard th' cannons crash and boom, 
And overheard the corp'ral say 

There'd be a heavy battle soon. 

The summons came — we all turned out — - 

Then there was startling dismay, 
For stretched before us, broad and dense, 

There stood a line of solid gray ; 
And while I stood in quaking dread, 

And saw th' cannons old and grim, 
Somehow my mind it wandered back 

To boyhood days and old friend Jim. 

I longed to see him once again, 

Ter look into his face once more, 
Ter clasp him by his honest hand 

As friendly as in days of yore. 
But here my reverie was checked — 

A rocket whistled through the air, 
The musket crashed, the fight was on, 

With terror reigning everywhere. 

( 149) 



Then when th' firin' slacked a bit 

A sound of voices swelled and grew, 
And far upon th' right was heard 

Th' cheerin' of the Boys in Blue. 
The fight was o'er, th' victory won, 

Once more our country's honor saved, 
While over us with gaudy folds 

Our starry banner proudly waved. 

That night on sentinel duty when 

The moonbeams threw a ghastly ray 
Among the chaparrel and o'er 

The fallen soldiers as they lay, 
'Twas then I heard some feller groan 

Among the bushes on my right, 
Where the skirmish line had been 

Before beginnin' of the fight. 

And then I crept up close behind, 

And somehow tore the brush away, 
And saw a soldier lying there 

Clothed in a rebel suit of gray ; 
And as he turned his head about 

He said to me in plaintive tone : 
"Water, water; I am dying, 

I am dying here alone." 

Then when I bathed his wounded brow 
And tendered carefully to him, 

I saw by glinting stars above 

The features of my old friend Jim. 

(150) 



"Forgive me, Bill," he slowly said ; 

"Forgive me for the wrong I've done, 
You wear the Blue, I wear the Gray, 

But soon both parties shall be one." 

And then he said with failing voice — 

And raised my trembling hand to kiss- 
"Just place your coat upon me, Bill, 

And do not bury me in this." 
It seems that I can see him now, 

With teardrops standing in his eye, 
And begging of me to forgive, 

Just to forgive and say good-bye. 

"Oh, I forgive you, Jim," I cried, 

And then I had to turn away 
To hide th' tears thet trickled down 

Upon his suit of rebel gray. 
But when I turned to look again 

'Twas all in vain I called t' Jim; 
His eyes were closed, and then I knew 

That death had come and taken him. 

Well, then I sat there long beside 

And held him gently by th' hand, 
Jes' thinkin' of th' days gone by 

When back upon our father's land ; 
And then I clipped away a curl, 

Three buttons off his suit o' gray, 
To send 'em to his mother dear 

A waitin' fer him fur away. 

(151) 



I tuck my Union jacket then 

And wrapped him tenderly about, 
And buried him beneath th' stars, 

And so poor Jim was mustered out. 
Now when I hear th' Southern Grays, 

All cursed and slurred with Northern whim, 
Why, then my mind it sort o' strays 

'Way back ter boyhood days with Jim. 



(152) 



The Dying Soldier. 

Unroll again the dear old flag 
That I may take a dying gaze 

Upon its folds — the gloom of death 
Is broken by its glowing rays. 

Old flag, although it's sad to die, 
'Tis sweet to fill a soldier's grave 

And know that through the silent years 
Above me you will guard and wave. 

Through many days of storm and sun 
I've followed you with eager tread — 

In peaceful camp, in weary march, 
And in the charge o'er heaps of dead. 

I've struggled with you in the front, 
Where frenzied men rushed too and fro, 

With shriek and curses, groans and prayers, 
Till hell of battle laid them low. 

Then in the roll call I have heard 
The summons for a cherished name; 

Too oft a deathly stillness fell, 

And from the ranks no answer came. 

( 153) 



Far in the distant camp tonight 
When bloody battle lantern's glare, 

And men shall line to call the roll, 
Ah, who will answer for me there? 

What tho' this cursed bullet flew 
And winged its deadly way to me, 

Had I a hundred thousand lives, 
Dear flag, I'd give them all for thee. 

Wave out, dear stripes, the angels 5 breath 
Will flutter you across the sea, 

And all the world will come to know 
That men are fashioned to be free. 

Wave out, altho' no more shall I 
Behold you blazing in the sky. 

May God and man respect your folds — 
Farewell, old flag, good-bye. 



(iS4) 



Battle of Manila 

I have heard the tales of battle 
Sung in ballad and in story — 
Of the gallantry and daring 
Of the men who stand to fall ; 
But of all that glint and glimmer 
Of a military glory, 
Dewey's battle of Manila 
Surely overdazzles all. 

E'en the Argonautic sailors, 
Headed by their gallant Jason, 
Who destroyed the fabled dragon 
That in Euxine river lay ; 
Or Heracles' journey 
Into hell's infernal bason, 
Couldn't equal Dewey's venture 
Into old Manila bay. 

Steering boldly to the harbor 
Where the Spanish fleet was lying, 
Frowning with its heavy cannon, 
He intruded slowly in. 
Little heeding the explosion 
Of the missiles 'round him flying, 
He'd resolved to beard the lion 
Who was growling in his den. 

(155) 



Like the lightning of a tempest, 
Rapid was the vivid flashing, 
When he trained his heavy cannon 
And returned a fierce reply, 
Awful was the loud explosion 
As the mighty balls went crashing, 
Sending clouds of smoke and splinters 
Flying upward in the sky. 

I can hear the Spaniards cursing 

As in hurry and in blunder 

They collided, crowded, jostled, 

Rushing madly to and fro ; 

I can hear the screams of drowning 

As they sink forever under, 

And the cold waves closed above them 

And entombed them deep below. 

When the Spanish ships were sinking, 
And their guns no longer roared, 
And the battle was decided 
To our hero and his braves — 
Touching must have been the picture 
As the smaller boats were lowered 
To receive their dying foemen 
From the hunger of the waves. 

Oft will be rehearsed with wonder 
This important tale of battle — 
When the right and wrong collided 
Down in old Manila bay. 

('56) 



When the winter winds are howling, 
Making doors and windows rattle, 
Twill be told with pride and pleasure 
To our youth for many a day. 



(iS7) 



Tlie Last Recall. 

It was nightfall, the camp was still, 
The soldiers lay in slumber deep, 

And with his chapeau at his side 
The bugle boy had gone to sleep. 

How softly did the breezes steal 

To kiss his brow so white and fair, 

And flutter gently to and fro 
His tangled locks of raven hair. 

His infant friends the fairies came 
From dreamland regions far away, 

And led him backward through the years 
Into his childhood's happy day. 

He dreamed of father, mother, home, 
A maiden's eyes so sweet and clear ; 

He heard her calling out his name 
And whispering love into his ear. 

Cut, hark ! a ruder sound is heard, 
That swelling louder, louder still, 

Awakes the sleeper with a start 
And sets his pulses all athrill. 

(158) 



He hears the foeman drawing near, 
So still that there are no alarms ; 

He grasps the bugle at his side 

And blows a piercing call, "To arms !" 

How changes then that silent camp — 
Each soldier wakes to grasp his gun, 

And as the bugle sounds the charge 
They rush to battle on the run. 

The bugle boy is at the front, 

Where muskets loudest flash around ; 

But suddenly his trump is still — 

He reels and sinks upon the ground. 

Scarce had its echoes died away, 
When swelling clear upon the air, 

It sounds again to cheer the boys, 
Who rushing on had left him there. 

And while his life blood ebbs away 
He hears the flankers drawing near 

To close the soldiers all around 

And shoot them down like herded deer. 

He starts to rise so weak and faint, 
He sinks again in mute despair, 

And gazing upward to the sky 

He breathes a hurried, sinking prayer. 

( 159 ) 



Then brings the bugle to his lips — 
How fluttering the echoes fall — 

So faint at first, then growing clear, 
He sounds a pitiful recall. 

The surging columns far away 

Soon hear the plaintive call, "Come back !" 
And wheeling round with rapid tread 

They cover a retreating track. 

The foe is foiled, the army saved, 

Yet in the grasses red and wet 
A rigid face looks to the sky, 

A glassy eye is fixed and set. 

Long may the mother wait in vain 
To welcome home her pride and joy ; 

Oft will the maiden breathe his name 
When longing for her soldier boy. 

And time perhaps will ne'er reveal 
The place or how he came to fall 

And die alone and could not know 
The issue of his last recall. 

The bugle horn is silent now, 
No one to sound a note of cheer, 

And many a cheek with powder stained 
Is dabbled by a soldier's tear. 

( 160 ) 



With folded flags and muffled drum, 
Next morning at the break of day, 

The noble-hearted soldiers come 
And bore their bugle boy away. 

Each soldier laid with grateful hand 
A wild-wood flower upon the pall 

That hid for aye the lips away — 
The lips that blew the last recall. 



( 161 



Memorial Address. 

Honored Veterans of the Armies of America: 

I shall attempt to confine my feeble expressions to 
the subject of the great Civil war in America. 

Let us review then, for one brief moment, that 
epoch of American history covering that period of 
time from when, the name — the United States of 
America — implied but the original thirteen feeble colo- 
nies whose cradle was creaking in the blood of a 
revolution, up until the time that the first gun was 
fired by the Confederate forces at Fort Sumter, April 
12, 1 86 1, against the national colors, and we will 
notice that we as a nation had experienced an unusual 
degree, a remarkable period of peace and of prosperity. 
I would have you to understand me to mean, in com- 
parison to that which was then existing among the 
ancient countries of Europe. 

History teaches us that it was but a few years be- 
fore this time that Napoleon Bonaparte, the greatest 
military leader that the world has ever known, was 
leading his vast legions throughout European domin- 
ions, causing kingdoms and empires to crumble at his 
touch and others to rise as if by magic at his bidding. 

Yet during all these years of American peace and 

(162) 



progress there had heen an underground current at 
work that was constantly washing out the foundations 
of our grand old government, preparing it to totter and 
almost to fall. 

A poisonous dragon was busily engaged fastening 
its deadly talons into the bosoms of some of the sev- 
eral states preparatory to rending out great talonsful 
of flesh and blood, the peace and prosperity of the great 
American republic. 

A great black war cloud had many years before 
risen up from the deep, dark jungles of distant Africa, 
had floated over the bosom of the mighty Atlantic, and 
had for years hung like a pall over the future safety 
and welfare of our governmental interest. 

Now, what did that underground current repre- 
sent? It represented the idea of American secession. 
The idea that a state could, of its own free will, dissolve 
itself from the national union and set up some sort 
of an independent government of its own. 

Then, what did that dragon represent? It repre- 
sented the idea that a man could eat his bread earned 
by the uncompensated labor of the slave. 

And when that great war cloud burst with a thun- 
der that shook the world, hurling thousands of the most 
perfect types of manhood down to the bosom of 
mother earth, never to arise, did it annihilate the prin- 
ciples of our grand old government ? Thank God, no. 

The people of truth and right and justice gathered 
with patriotic cheers around the trembling folds of the 
stars and stripes, and they raised them back firm, 

(163) 



unfaltering and high, high over the principles of a 
new government, a government without the slave. 

Oh, how dark and terrible the opening days of the 
Civil war must have been. It seems to me that I can 
see the conditions of our country as they existed at 
that time spread out before me through some magic 
panoramic manner ; it seems that I can hear the loud 
voices of the eloquent orators as they went about this 
beautiful land of ours, inciting the fair young boys of 
city and farm into the awful ranks of war. 

And it seems to me that I can hear the repeated 
cheers of those same boys as they gathered with hur- 
rahs of patriotism around the fluttering folds of Old 
Glory, resolved to go wherever it might lead them, in 
the peaceful camp, in the weary march and in the awful 
charge o'er heaps of dead. And into death? Aye, 
yes, and even into hell for the sake of the dear old 
American flag. 

And, again, it seems to me that I can see these same 
poor boys, upon the day before their departure for the 
front. Some of them arc strolling through the quiet, 
pleasant woodlands with the maidens that they love, 
pledging their undying truth and everlasting remem- 
brance. 

Some of them are bidding adieu to the aged gray- 
haired mother, upon the old veranda, who kisses and 
embraces them over and over again, in heart-rending 
silence. We see the young son as he leaves her, as he 
trips down the gravel pathway past the fragrant hon- 
eysuckle bushes ; we hear the clatter of the old gate 

(i6 4 ) 



behind him through which he had so often entered; 
in a moment he is gone, and is gone forever. 

Perhaps tomorrow's sun will shine upon these same 
poor boys, far out upon the firing lines of war, where 
the horses trample and the great guns bellow clouds of 
smoke ; there upon the cold damp ground in the wet 
and bloody grass might be seen their cold silent forms 
with white, rigid upturned faces. 

Such is the horror of war, yet I would to God that 
all its terrors ended upon the field of battle. 

Imagine the thousands of once happy homes for- 
ever made desolate; picture the waiting maid, wait- 
ing anxiously day after day for the soldier boy who will 
never return. 

Far out in the bloody war land in some secluded 
spot there is perhaps a solitary grave, uncultured and 
unsung; unkempt save for its fringe of summer flow- 
ers, and unsung save for the twittering of the song- 
birds in the branches above it. 

Picture that aged mother sitting upon the old 
veranda every summer afternoon, waiting, waiting 
to hear that footstep which will never fall. Ah, poor 
mother, the feet of your young son, the staff of your 
declining years, are forever silenced ; he is sleeping, 
sleeping that eternal sleep that knows no waking, with 
no funeral shroud save his uniform stained with his 
own heart's blood. 

But now the question arises. What is the issue to 
all such sacrifice of peace and love and happiness? 
Hark ! what is that ? As with a crashing sound I hear 



i & 



(165) 



the rattle of a million chains as they fall from the 
bleeding hands and feet of as many bondaged negoes. 
But listen ! listen ! there is a sweeter sound — there 
is a sweeter sound, that rises and wells above the ex- 
ultant shouts of the jubilant negroes at their freedom, 
and it is the voice of the great North and of the great 
South blended in the singing of that grand old strain 
that shall echo and re-echo down through all the com- 
ing generations of time these sweet and immortal 
words : 

"Oh long may that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." 



(166) 



Benediction. 

Great guard of heaven's door, 
Bear with us, we implore, 
Flood all with blessings o'er — 

Even to me. 
Hear thou the prayers we bring, 
Hear thou the songs we sing, 
Hear thou the bells we ring — 

Praises to thee. 

Teach us to watch and pray, 
Guard us from day to day, 
Lest we should drift astray, 

Wander in sin. 
Then when the shadows loom, 
Lengthening toward the tomb, 
Pilot us through the gloom 

Forever, Amen. 



(167) 



JUN 14 19C5 




015 928 143 7 



